


The Catalyst

by Camelittle



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Action & Romance, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Photographer, Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, Brighton - Freeform, Cats, Domestic Fluff, Dragons, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Magic, Shapechanging, Shapeshifting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-08
Updated: 2017-05-08
Packaged: 2018-10-24 23:03:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 21,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10751595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Camelittle/pseuds/Camelittle
Summary: It started with a storm. Well, no, maybe it started with the cat… Either way, Merlin's magic was out of control, and even an oblivious, magic-hating clotpole like Merlin'sgut-wrenching, unrequited crushflatmate couldn't ignore it forever. And when Uther's arch-nemesis turned up, suddenly the (metaphorical) cat was out of the bag, busily decimating the (figurative) pigeon population, and nothing would ever be the same again.





	The Catalyst

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LittleSara](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleSara/gifts).



> With ALL the thanks to my wonderful artist, sarabocchan, for creating such a beautiful and inspiring original piece and all the adorable extras <3 <3 <3 
> 
> It has been such a buzz working with you! 
> 
> Check out the awesome art masterposts here http://sara-bocchan.tumblr.com/post/158194875666/my-submission-for-merlin-reverse-bang-d-it-was and the gorgeous dividers here http://sara-bocchan.tumblr.com/post/160445088291/a-bunch-of-dividers-i-made-for-merlin-reverse-to 
> 
> Undying thanks also to my incomparable betas Tari_Sue and Archaeologist_D for your words of wisdom and good sense.

“Whoa, that was a close one!” Merlin looked up from his laptop. He was sitting at the kitchen table, munching a late-night bowl of cereal. The comforting sounds of the latest CatTube video played through the speaker.

The storm raged outside with all the intensity of a band of deranged percussionists let loose in a music store. Across Brighton, car alarms screamed, triggered by that last thunderbolt.

It wasn’t as if Merlin was frightened of thunderstorms, _per se_. Normally he rather enjoyed them. But his house-mate, Arthur, had gone out for his evening training run ages ago. And Arthur was a thrill-seeking prat with no sense of danger. What if he’d gone to run along the undercliff at Rottingdean? He would risk being swept away. In the dark. 

A churning sensation swooped into Merlin’s gut.

Of course, Merlin could always go out looking for him, but what was the point? Arthur could be anywhere. And he hadn’t taken his phone, so it wasn’t as if Merlin could try to find him using that.

But there was a way of checking where he was. One that Arthur didn’t know about.

He shouldn’t.

But, Arthur.

On a whim, he stood and went over to the sink. The tub held a couple of pans, soaking in dirty dishwater. Removing the pans, he poured the dishwater away, replacing it with clean water from the tap, in preparation for scrying.

He shouldn’t be doing this, he knew he shouldn’t, but he had to know that Arthur was all right. Muttering a few words under his breath, he waved his hand over the top of the water. It darkened, rippling in the wake of his splayed fingers.

“Come on, clotpole. Where are you?” he said, blowing on the water’s surface.

He paused. A momentary pang of guilt flared. Gaius had warned him against using his magic like this.

_Keep it secret. Do not use it. You are not ready. It will attract attention._

Well that was a rough translation, anyway. What he’d actually said was something a lot more pompous and difficult to remember, mixed in with a bunch of warnings about power and control and the like.

_You don’t have enough control. Any power source is dangerous. Whatever you do, avoid doing magic near sources of electricity, especially a thunderstorm._

But on the other hand, Arthur, being Merlin’s best friend, and a fearless dollophead to boot, needed someone to watch over him. The fact that Merlin had developed all these inconvenient feelings for Arthur was not important. Besides, what was his power for, if it wasn’t to watch over the people he lo— cared about?  

_Centre yourself before performing magic. You must be calm. Your emotions can make it unpredictable._

Calm. He must be calm. Closing his eyes, Merlin breathed in through his nose, exhaling through his mouth. He counted to ten, silently. His growing impatience told him that was long enough.

His eyes popped open. He held his hands outstretched, fingers splayed.

“ _Ætie!_ ”

Sudden power surged through him. Energy gripped him. Inexorable. Pain and ecstasy mingled. His fingers tingled and his heart raced. He trembled under its force. It had never felt this strong before. Electricity sparked at the edge of his vision in rainbow colours. He gritted his teeth. Searing pains squealed along his nerves. He had to rein it back in. He had to! He shuddered with the effort, tasting ozone and steel, salt and rain on hot concrete.

His defences slammed down. Slowly, the power receded until he could force it to condense into his fingers. When he was sure he was ready, he thrust them into the water in front of him.  

He glared at the shimmering image that appeared. A light, bobbing up and down, grew closer and resolved into the silhouette of a running man, wearing a headtorch that dipped with each stride. Raindrops, illuminated by the glow, formed a cone of light in front of him. Suddenly, a huge black wave, topped with savage white foam, engulfed this figure like a giant hand.

“Arthur!” Merlin yelled.

But his voice broke the spell. The vision vanished, leaving only the cool blue water in the washing-up bowl. Its surface trembled and stilled.

“I knew it!” Fuming, Merlin emptied the water into the sink. His legs wobbled, whether from the fright or the huge power discharge, he could not be sure. His breath came in short, heavy pants, as if he was the one running. He’d never felt it that strongly before! He could only just keep it all in! Why? Had he got stronger all of a sudden? Or was it the storm? Or his feelings for Arthur? Gaius had warned him that his emotional state could make his magic unpredictable. And as for Arthur— that absolute cabbagehead! Of all the selfish, arrogant, blockheaded nincompoops that ever—

A tiny sound from the hallway interrupted his fretting.

“Arthur? “ Frowning, Merlin half-rose to his feet. “Is that you?”

But it wasn’t the sort of noise that a stupid clotpole would make when reappearing from a run in the middle of a hurricane. It was more of a…

“Meow!” came the sound again, a little closer this time.

Following the noise, Merlin pushed open the door into the tiny, unlit hallway of their ground-floor flat.

“Meow!” said the bedraggled-looking creature. She sat before him, pale, sodden fur clinging to her spare frame. She was white, with flashes of marmalade, and her eyes, a luminous orange, blinked at him in the light that streamed in from the kitchen. She skittered backwards, mewling when he approached.

“Well, hello, Puss!” With a smile, he crouched and extended a hand for her to sniff. “I’m Merlin! And how did you get in?”

Maybe the door was open, or a window had broken somewhere when the thunderbolt struck. He looked up at the front door more closely, which is when he saw the cat flap. It was small and square, at the base of the door, and above it a discreet blue light blinked. Around the cat’s otherwise unadorned neck was a collar, a tiny light flashed the same shade of blue in answer.

“Well, that’s odd! I’m sure we didn’t have a cat flap this morning! Arthur must have had it put in while I was at work? But we don’t even have a cat! And when did—?”  

“Meow!” she replied, rubbing her wet cheek upon the back of his fingers.

“It’s almost like you can talk!” He chuckled, and took the opportunity to check the writing on the metal tag around her neck. Freya, it stated on one side. On the other side of the tag was Merlin’s address and phone number.

“Well, I never! How on earth did Arthur—” He’d always wanted a cat, but it had never crossed his mind to get one before. Arthur must have wanted to surprise him. Arthur was a genius! Even if he was a clotpole. Letting the poor little thing go out in this weather.

If he was even alive, any more. The thought hit him like a punch to the gut.

 

 

Merlin was still annoyed with Arthur the following morning. Rightfully, of course.

When the clotpole had eventually swanned in, late, larger than life and pink with exertion, he hadn’t even had the grace to look contrite. Wet, yes. Salty, probably. Lickable, definitely, and Merlin really shouldn't go there, because— anyway. Contrite, no. And the apology that Merlin was expecting? Ha. What apology?

“Evening, Merlin,” said Arthur instead, bold as you please, sweat and salt dripping from his unfairly attractive blond locks onto the floor that Merlin had only just cleaned. “Is there any food? I’m starving!”

“What?” Relief warred with fury. Fury won. From the comfortable spot where he and the cat were sitting on the sofa, Merlin glared up at the prat. “Get your own!” he hissed, hoping he was being quiet enough not to wake the cat, who lay curled up on his lap, dozing. “Of all the irritating, arrogant, pompous—”

“Fine.” Arthur flashed him an unrepentant grin. “Pretty cat, by the way! Did you choose her? No, wait, you can't have done, you have all the good taste of a colourblind seagull.”

"Huh," retorted Merlin. "That's obviously why I share a house with _you_."

"Oh, ha-bloody-ha. Very clever, _Mer_ lin." And with that, Arthur disappeared off to shower, leaving only a whiff of sweaty self-satisfaction in his wake.

So, yes, rightfully annoyed. And to cap it all, this morning, to add to his woes, he couldn’t sit at his favourite place in the kitchen, because Freya was asleep on it. He couldn’t even watch kitten videos on CatTube, because Arthur had stolen his laptop, and was sitting reading the footie scores on the Guardian online whilst flicking through messages on his phone.

“Why don’t you read your paper on your own laptop, you entitled prat?” said Merlin, scowling.

“Well, good morning to you, too!” Arthur didn’t look up. “Aren’t we a ray of sunshine today? My laptop’s in the studio. Morgana borrowed it, she needs Photoshop to work on—erm. Some project or another.” He shrugged. “Anyway, I won’t be long, just want to check the football scores.”

The studio that Arthur shared his half-sister was ten minutes cycle away, in a small industrial unit on the outskirts of town near the university.

“Oh, right, Morgana’s got yours, so that means it’s okay for you to steal mine?” Merlin sat on his decidedly non-favourite chair, and laid his head on his forearms, thinking dark thoughts about clotpoles who insisted on scaring the living daylights out of people by going running in dangerous places at stupid times.

“Steal?” Arthur  narrowed his eyes in that way that he had. The one that meant that he was about to say something particularly prattish and irritating. “As if I would steal this obsolete old junkbucket.”  

Yep, prattish and irritating. Bingo.

“It’s a perfectly good laptop, you arrogant sod.” Merlin rolled his eyes.  “If it’s that obsolete, why can’t you look up the footie scores on your phone, instead of slumming it with my laptop?”

“Because I’m checking my important messages, obviously,” said Arthur with the sort of lopsided smirk that made Merlin simultaneously want to punch him and snog him to within an inch, no, a millimetre of his life.

Such feelings were far too confusing for a Tuesday morning. And it was all Arthur’s fault. Running off into a flipping hurricane, and giving Merlin a fright like that. Of course, he couldn’t tell Arthur off about it directly. Because— well, for so many reasons that it made his head hurt. It was probably best not to talk at all, given all the secrets that threatened to burst out. Not even to ask about the cat.

“Anyway, I’m not speaking to you,” he said instead.

“Oh, right, because I exercised my right to free will last night.” Rolling his eyes and putting his phone face up on the table, Arthur pushed the laptop towards him. “Here. As you obviously got out of bed on the wrong side this morning, you’d better indulge your cat video addiction while I make you a cup of tea.”

Well, it would be a lie to say Merlin didn’t want a cuppa. But he wasn’t speaking to the prat. He hummed a graceless affirmative instead.

As Arthur stood and bustled in the direction the kettle, his phone buzzed. Merlin squinted at the upside-down face that grinned back at him. Attached to a naked torso. The accompanying text in the open message read:

_when can we meet? -Percival_

Great. Disappointment and jealousy sliced through Merlin's already painful gut like a knife. This Percival geezer looked bloody gorgeous. Dear God! Talk about buff! The man had muscles on muscles! Forget six-packs. This guy had at least ten. Maybe even twelve. Anyway, date or no date, it wasn’t any of Merlin’s business. And it wasn’t as if he’d ever be in with a chance with someone as physically perfect as Arthur.

Arthur, oblivious to Merlin’s inner distress, padded around the kitchen, his unicorn slippers muffling the sound of his footsteps.

Merlin’s lips twitched briefly. He’d found the slippers online, and it had been a moment of extreme glee when he gave them to Arthur, thinking he’d never wear them. But despite ridiculing them, and Merlin’s terrible taste, at least ten times a day, Arthur still wore them all the time.

“It’s a bloody good thing you’ve got me to pour hot drinks inside you in the mornings,” said Arthur, pulling two tea-bags from the caddy and slinging them into waiting mugs. “Or you’d never get anything done! There’s a postcard, by the way, from Guinevere and Elyan.”

Sure enough, a postcode lay on the table, with a shark on the front. Merlin turned it over. Gwen and Ely had reached Camelot. Without, according to the message on the back, being attacked by cows. Which meant that Arthur had told them about the incident with the bull, when they he and Merlin had holidayed in Camelot last year.

"Oh my God, you dollophead!" Merlin reached up to stick the postcard on their notice board in pride of place, between their Brighton Pride unicorn and Gwen's hand made love heart. "I can't believe you told them about the bull!" 

Of course he had. Because he was a total prat with no respect for Merlin’s pride. Not to mention the calendar that he had made, documenting the whole sorry incident. Which, despite Merlin’s best efforts, reappeared on the kitchen wall every time Merlin thought he’d managed to hide it.

“It was hardly my fault some poor little calf mistook you for its breakfast.” Grinning smugly, Arthur slid a mug full of steaming liquid across the table, picking up his phone and then stashing it away in his pocket. “You’re about as thin as a leaf of grass anyway.”

“Calf? It was a bloody great big bull, you body shaming prat!” protested Merlin, hotly. He took a sip of his tea.

“Sulky dimwit!” Arthur expertly ladled three teaspoons of sugar into his own cup and stirred it noisily, tapping it with his teaspoon with a flourish to finish. He sat back down opposite Merlin.

“You might want to lay off the sugar,” said Merlin, nodding towards Arthur’s waistline.

“Now who’s the body shamer?” said Arthur, his mouth quirking up on one side.

They regarded each other for a moment before bursting out laughing. But then Merlin remembered that he was still angry. He pursed his lips back into a disapproving pout, and put on his best glower.

“I know what you’re doing,” he said. He glared at his computer screen, where a cute Burmese kitten batted at an unravelling ball of wool. “And, yes, we had a great time in Camelot. But it doesn’t change anything. I’m still not speaking to you.”

Bloody prat, Merlin added in the silence of his own head. Flirting with stormy oceans. Blithely acting as if nothing had happened. You might have drowned!

Merlin clamped his teeth together, to avoid letting his resentment spill out. But the action made unbidden magic flare hotly up within him, tingling under his skin. The lights dimmed for a fraction of a second and the windows rattled. Desperately he flailed at his magic, but it paid him no attention. His heart pounded and his fingertips buzzed with a sudden flush of power.

“That’s weird,” said Arthur, looking at the kitchen window. He stood up again, staring. “I didn’t realise it was still windy. Must be a hangover from the storm.”

"Yeah." Grateful that Arthur had turned his back, Merlin sucked in a harsh breath, struggling to control the wild magic that flowed through his veins and into his fingertips. It was escaping his control! He had to make it stop. He had to!

Arthur could never find out.

He closed his eyes, fighting to centre himself, pulling the magic away from his fingers and into his core. He drew the strands of it tightly into a knot that burned behind his sternum. A few moments later, he risked opening his eyes as he drew took a shaky breath. That had been close.

Just then, Freya finally woke up and stretched. Blinking back furious tears, Merlin reached out and tickled her behind her ear. Her softness and warmth soothed the ice and fire that the magic had left in its wake. She yawned and lifted a dainty paw up onto the table just as Arthur turned away from the window.

“Aren’t you a little cutie?” Arthur, oblivious to Merlin’s discomfort, bent to rub under Freya’s chin with one finger. She lifted her head, eyes closing in ecstasy, letting out a riot of loud purrs. “She seems to like that CatTube channel you’re watching.”

Merlin opened his mouth to answer but closed it again, folding his lips together.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake.” Arthur rolled his eyes as he pulled out the chair to sit back down. “I normally can’t shut you up! Why on earth are you sulking?”

“I am not sulking!” said Merlin, hotly. “Stop that!” he added, aiming this last remark at Freya, who had leaped up onto the table, curling herself up on the keyboard of Merlin’s laptop. He picked her up with gentle hands, moving her to one side. Her thin body felt warm beneath her soft pelt. But her chest rumbled with purrs and the second he released her she promptly walked back onto the keyboard. Sitting on it, she started to lick her paws. “Oh, for heaven’s sake!”

“For someone who’s not speaking to me, Mr Sulkypants, you’re being remarkably garrulous!” Arthur drained his tea. He always drank it scalding hot. Merlin, in contrast, preferred to nurse his mug and sip at it while it warmed his hands.

“Huh. Garrulous, eh? That’s a big word for you!” said Merlin. “Do you even know what it means? And anyway, I do not sulk. I am merely maintaining a respectful silence until you apologise for being a selfish git.” Giving up on his laptop, he blew on the surface of his drink to cool it instead.

“Remarkably loud silence, if you ask me.” Arthur snorted. “And you still haven’t told me how you worked out where I went. Were you spying on me?”

“Mmm?” Merlin’s throat closed abruptly. He swallowed, and licked his dry lips. “Um. Salt stains on your running gear?” he improvised, glaring at Arthur as if daring him to challenge this statement. He pointed an accusing finger. “And I’m not the one at fault here.”  

“I’m not a child, Merlin,” growled Arthur. “And you are not my mother. I can run along the undercliff if I like.”

“No, but you’re my friend, and I don't want to lose you!” blurted Merlin. Heat rose up his cheeks and he bit his lip.

Arthur was staring at him, brow furrowed as if trying to puzzle Merlin out. Which would not do at all. If Arthur ever worked out what Merlin really felt about him, it would ruin everything. So Merlin narrowed his eyes and pressed his lips together, casting about for some quip that would reduce the tension.

“I mean,” Merlin added, eventually. “Who would take blurred holiday photos of the two of us if you weren’t around?”

“Oh, here we go again. How many times do I have to tell you, that photo was not blurred, _Merl_ in,” protested Arthur, a smile playing at the corner of his lips. “It had a filter. Obviously, I’m practically a professional. It wouldn’t look like that by accident.”

“That’s what you say.” They stared at each other for a long moment. Arthur was the first to drop his gaze, when Merlin licked his lips.

“Well.” Arthur gazed down at his folded hands. “I was never in any danger. And anyway, if I do get swept out to sea, then at least you’ll have your new cat to keep you company.”

Was this why Arthur had got the cat? To keep Merlin company? Was he trying to tell him something? He wasn’t moving out, was he? A cold finger of dread curled around Merlin’s heart.

Swallowing, he stared at the computer where Freya still sat, drowsing. He had no idea why cats found keyboards so comfortable. Surely they would etch little square dents in the fur? But years of watching CatTube had taught him that the laptop keyboard was a favourite cat seat in many households. It was probably to do with the warmth, or something. Sighing, he hoped that she hadn’t managed to type any rude emails as her paws kneaded the keys.  

Arthur’s phone buzzed. His eyes widened as he pulled it out of his pocket, tilting the screen away from Merlin’s view.

“Who is it?” said Merlin .

“Only my sister,” said Arthur, not meeting Merlin's eyes. But a flush of pink stained his cheeks and neck and he stood abruptly. “I’ll- er. I’ll take it in the other room.”

There was something off about Arthur’s demeanour. Suddenly, Merlin was sure he was lying. There was someone calling Arthur, and he didn’t want Merlin to know who it was.

Was it that Percival again? The one with the Jean-Claude Van Damme muscles? Fear clutched at Merlin’s belly, and his magic burned simultaneously hot and cold.

This time when the lights dimmed, all the bulbs in the kitchen simultaneously flashed a livid green. They fizzed, cracked and went black. There was a smell of burning metal.

Bugger.

 

 

“It took twenty minutes, you say?” Gaius, Merlin’s supervisor, noisily scratched notes into the faded pages of his thick, leather-bound notebook with an ink pen that looked, if anything, even older than he did. “To get it under control?”

“At least.” Merlin sighed and passed tired hand across his eyes. “Plus, I had to buy new bulbs and replace the fuse box. Thankfully the microwave survived, but the toaster is a lump of twisted metal. I had to talk fast to stop Arthur getting suspicious. I told him the kettle shorted all the fuses.”

His magic still kept bubbling up under his skin at the most inopportune moments. It was more settled, here, in Gaius’s office in the Department of Applied Ethical Psychothaumaturgy, though. There was something about these University rooms that always seemed to soothe his magic. Whether it was the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, lined with esoteric volumes, that calmed it, or the huge, stone orb that rested on Gaius’s desk, Merlin couldn’t say. Maybe it was just the deep, resinous smell of ancient wood that settled his nerves. Whatever it was, he was grateful.

Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath. With a thought, he smoothed the tangles of power that had been raging around his body. He visualised them wrapping around each other like the ball of wool that kitten had been playing with in the video. Willing them to co-operate, he stroked the writhing threads gradually into submission.

“Hmm.” Muttering complicated phrases like _spontaneous, involuntary magical manifestations_ and _quasi-rational emotional synergesis,_ Gaius stood, his chair scraping loudly against the hard wooden floor. “Most irregular.”

A drawer was pulled open and banged shut. Footsteps tap-tapped across to one of the bookshelves. There was a slithery, leathery sound, and the heavy _thwap thwap_ of volumes being slammed onto the table.

Merlin tuned out the noises and focused instead on breathing in and out through his nose. Gaius had advised him to imagine some wide and lonely place, so he pictured himself upon a bleak mountain, with just the wind and the cries of eagles for company. Gradually the tingling under his skin quieted.

He’d just managed to wrangle his magic into some sort of order when Gaius spoke, making him jump.

“Merlin?”

His eyes flew open. Gaius was peering at him, one eyebrow raised into the position that Merlin called (inwardly) the “inverted comma of scepticism”.

“Sorry,” said Merlin. “I was miles away.”

“I think I have identified a possible diagnosis for your sudden, acute thaumaturgical disposition,” said Gaius.

“Say again?” Merlin attempted to mirror Gaius’s inverted comma with his own eyebrow.

“I have found an answer.” Gaius poked at the pages of a heavy volume.

“What does it say?” Merlin craned his neck, but could not decipher the dense text upside down.

Gaius adjusted his half-moon spectacles and peered down at the page.

“ _Such erratic displays of potentiality_ ,” he read, out loud, “ _common in those of high puissance, typically have a foundation in severe instances of extreme negative emotional disturbances._ ”  

Merlin frowned as he tried to work out what that meant. It was clear where Gaius had got his verbal style from. Reading this sort of flowery, verbose nonsense, plus years of competitive droning at academic conferences. It was all bound to rub off eventually. But over the months of their acquaintance, Merlin had learned how to decipher such statements. And he didn’t much like what he’d gathered from this one.

“Do you mean,” he said, swallowing. “That this is going to happen every time I get upset about something?”

“Possibly,” said Gaius. He leaned forward across the table, until their faces were nearly touching, looking at Merlin over the top of his glasses. Merlin could see all the tiny pink thread veins that criss-crossed his pale cheeks. “It depends. Maybe there is just one emotional trigger? What were you thinking about when this happened? What were you _feeling_?”

“Um.” Merlin bit his lip and looked away to disguise the heat that stained his cheeks and neck. “Can’t remember. Nothing much. But. Erm. Okay. But let’s say, for the sake of argument that I was a little bit. Well. Upset. Maybe that’s it.” He coughed. “Ahem. Right. What else does it say?”  

“ _Certain tempestuous meteorological conditions can amplify the impact of the arcana on the subject_ ,” said Gaius, peering down at the page again.

“You mean, bad weather can make it worse?” said Merlin, his heart sinking.

“This isn’t news to you, Merlin.” Gaius frowned, but it was the note of disappointment in his voice that really made Merlin wince. “I’ve told you before to avoid doing magic during electrical storms.”

“Ah.” Merlin swallowed. “About that. Erm.”

“Oh, Merlin.” Gaius sighed and rubbed his hand across his forehead.

“Is there any more?”

“Yes.” Gaius pushed his reading glasses up his nose and looked back at the hefty book. “It says that _such phenomena can also be triggered upon contact with an esoteric materialisation, a manifestation, or a phenomenon, with a proximal physical realisation_.”

“You mean, stuff appearing near me?” said Merlin, after a few moments of gaping at the words on the page. “What sort of stuff?”

“Well, I can’t know for sure.” Gaius shrugged. “But it seems to imply the sudden appearance of something – or, more likely, some _one_ – arcane in your immediate locality.”

“You mean… weird shit?”

“Well, it’s a rather imprecise way of phrasing it, but basically, yes.” Gaius leaned back on his chair and directed his unnerving, pale blue gaze at Merlin over the top of steepled fingers. “Has anything - or any _one_ \- changed in your domestic environment, recently?”

“No!” said Merlin, shrugging. “Can’t think of anything.”

“Are you sure?” said Gaius. “Are you sure there isn’t anything at all? Anything, Merlin? However small? Think, Merlin.”

“Not really.” Merlin racked his brains. “Just the usual. Except— Oh. Hang on. Wait. Well. It’s probably not important, but. There is, you know. One thing. Just one little thing. It couldn’t… nah. Couldn’t be. Must be something else. Surely?”

They stared at each other.

 

 

"We won't be long, puss, we're only off for a run." Merlin hesitated for a moment at the top of the steps that led to their front door, and peered back into the house through the letterbox.

From her vantage point inside her favourite shoebox, Freya blinked back out at him.

"You're holding the fort, okay?" He let the flap down on the letterbox, but when he looked up again, Arthur was already half way down the street. "Oh, for crying out loud. Wait for me, you impatient dollophead!"

Arthur didn't answer, but appeared instead to accelerate. Merlin set off at full pelt, trying to catch him up. 

“I don’t see,” panted Merlin, already out of breath by the time they reached the seafront. They turned along it, towards the undercliff, dodging the usual scattered pram, skateboards and BMXers. “Why I have to.” Pant. “Get up.” Pant. “At arse.” Pant. “O’ clock. To train. With you!”

“It’s good for you,” said Arthur, loping easily along. “Gets your circulation moving.”  

“I’m not. Even. Entered. For. The. Half Marathon.” Merlin’s chest was burning. He didn’t even have the breath to add “hypercompetitive clotpole” to the end of his sentence.

And yet. Merlin would never admit it out loud, but there was something invigorating and yet soothing about the steady breeze wafting in off the sea, and the tang of salt and ozone in the air as he sucked it into his lungs. And boy did he suck. In fact, someone had actually set his lungs on fire, at about the same time as they also set his legs on fire, and he might be about to pass out, and Arthur could at least look a little bit tired rather than looking like a smug sexy bastard

“Besides which,” Arthur added, his feet splashing in a puddle left on the undercliff path by an earlier retreating tide. “I wanted you to see that it’s safe along here. Even when the waves are a bit playful.”

“Playful?” huffed Merlin. “It was. Raging tempest! More like! Clotpole! This is. Nothing!”

It was one of those grey mornings that could be in any season. On one side of them loomed the dirty white cliffs, while over to the other, the dull, restless sea shivered and sucked at the shingles, as the tide steadily surged in. The horizon was hidden, a subtle blur at the merging of cloud and sea.

“Anyway, it will help with your academic stuff.” said Arthur. He ran in swift, economical steps, his torso steady and head barely bobbing. “Morgana always says that running helps her to think when she’s trying to write. Helps her with the plot, gets her past difficult stumbling blocks, you know.”

“Well. In that case… Drag her along? Instead?” Merlin’s more inelegant stride ate the kilometres, but wouldn’t win any prizes for style. “Why. Involve me? Why not. Let me stay. Home. Making. Mushroom. Omelette?”

A corner of the cliff loomed. A cyclist hurtled around it, making them swerve.

“You’re just a lazy lugabed.” Arthur laughed and lengthened his stride to get round the corner, dodging a skateboarder, then jogged at a slower pace to let Merlin catch up. “You’d only go back to bed to watch cat videos and get cheese all over the keyboard. It’s no wonder you can’t seem to keep anything electrical for more than a few weeks at a time! I’m doing you a service. Anyway, where would the fun be in that? It’s much more fun watching you go purple than listening to my half-sister harping on about her latest plot developments.”

“Well, she must. Be doing. Something right!” said Merlin. He took a gulp from his water bottle without breaking stride, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. “How long. Has “ _Passionate. Obsession_ ”. Been in the. Bestseller. Lists?”

“Fifteen weeks,” said Arthur, with a chuckle. “Who would have thought there would be such a market for gay romance novels?”

“We live. In Brighton! That shouldn’t be. A surprise,” huffed Merlin.  “Are we. Nearly there. Prat? I’m starving!”

He was only complaining for the sake of it, really, because it did help. When he was out of breath, the sound of his pulse mingling with the cries of the seagulls and the surging surf, his magic dulled to a gentle itch.

“We’ll stop at the cafe after the car park for a sandwich,” said Arthur. “I’ve got a tenner in my pocket.”

“Ugh!” Merlin eyed the way that Arthur’s running shirt, wet with perspiration, clung to the contours of his belly. “Sweaty money! I pity. The serving staff.”

“Are you saying you don’t want a sandwich?” said Arthur. “Because I’m quite happy to eat yours, if so.”

“No no!” said Merlin hastily,, gulping in some more air. The fire had spread, now, from his legs up to his bum, and was threatening the lower echelons of his abs. “I love. Sweaty. Ten pound. Notes. They’re absolutely. The best. Sort.”

They passed a notice board with gaily fluttering adverts. Jazz concerts, live screenings and  theatre productions jostled for attention with brass bands, hypnotist shows, junior martial arts displays, creative writing courses, and the upcoming half marathon. Arthur darted away from the path for a moment, ripping down one of the advertisements and shoving it into his pocket. When he rejoined Merlin, he was scowling.

“Another hypnotist?” said Merlin, as understanding washed over him. He took the opportunity to stop running, panting heavily, hands on his knees. “You can’t. Rip them. All down.”

“I know.” Arthur flashed him a grim smile. “But that won’t stop me from trying. I’d remove all traces of him, and anyone like him, if I could. Hypnotists, mediums, fortune tellers, magicians. Charlatans and shysters, the lot of them. They’re all the same to me.”

Merlin’s reply stuck in his throat. He sank down onto a grassy patch, lungs heaving. The sky darkened, and a thin drizzle began to fall.

 

 

“Arthur? Are you in?” Merlin toed off his trainers, and pushed the door closed. He fumbled for the light switch and promptly fell over something soft that yowled out a protest and directed a pair of accusing, orange eyes at him that glowed through the gloom. “Freya? Sorry, Puss! But if you will sit on the doormat!”

It was a few days later. The household had settled into a comfortable rhythm with its new occupant. But Freya had got into the habit of playing with Arthur’s unicorn slippers in the most inconvenient places. She abandoned the one that she had with her now, in favour of grooming her haunches.

“You need to stop playing with those.” Merlin frowned at her as he took his coat off and hung it on the hook. “You’ll get them all manky!” He grabbed the slipper and stomped off to the kitchen with it, hoping for a cup of tea and a chat.

Arthur was sitting at the kitchen table in a pair of old jogging bottoms and a threadbare grey t-shirt, feet bare, frowning at a computer screen. Prints of photographs littered the table in front of him.

Swallowing, Merlin deposited Arthur’s slipper on the floor with its twin and paused for a moment in the doorway. Mottled sunlight reflected off the dense mat of blond hairs on Arthur’s thickly muscled forearms.

Magic fizzed in his belly and the lights flickered.

Inwardly cursing, Merlin closed his eyes and hastened to pull in his magic using the techniques that Gaius had been working on with him. This was getting ridiculous. He hadn’t even been having carnal thoughts, just indulging in a whimsical moment of admiration, but it seemed even that was enough to make the electrics go haywire.

When he opened his eyes, the cat was staring at him, unblinking. In the light of her gaze, the riot of tingling stilled.

Interesting. There was something odd about her. He was almost sure about it. Now, for example. For a moment, there, it felt like she was calming him down. He knelt down and beckoned to her with his fingertips, making little kissing noises with his lips and teeth. She approached him, purring, eyes closing in feline ecstasy when he buried his fingers in the soft fur behind her ears and gave her a good tickle.

“Good day?” said Arthur, absently. He held a pencil between his teeth, and a pair of spectacles were perched at the end of his nose. His hair rucked up into peaks, making him look dishevelled, as if he’d just been thoroughly ravished.

Merlin swallowed and struggled to prevent himself from exploring that thought any further. One new toaster in a week was quite enough! To distract himself, he stopped petting the cat and stood to open the cupboard where the biscuits were normally kept. However, instead of a selection of McVitie’s multi-packs, neat arrays of cat food lined the shelves – and not just any old cheapo cat food from Lidl, either. Oh no. The purple containers declared that they were for “Freya – the discerning cat” and had labels like “mature Aberdeen Angus Bourgignon with a rich, meaty gravy” and “line caught tuna chunks in a delicate seafood sauce”.

Merlin opened his mouth to question Arthur about this extravagance, but then glanced at the cat, who was threading expertly in and out of his legs like an Olympic giant slalom skier. Merlin closed his mouth again. Dark suspicions began to bloom in his heart even as, with an enquiring meow, she nudged an empty purple plate towards him with a forepaw. Craning his neck, he made out the word “Princess Freya” emblazoned upon it in ornate gold lettering. It certainly didn’t look to Arthur’s taste, which ran more to red than purple, nor to his own, which tended more towards the blue end of the spectrum. He supposed that her colour was a blend of the two.

Her meows grew more insistent.

“Hungry, are we?” He couldn’t help smiling. She looked so cute and so purposeful as she rose up on her hind legs and pawed at the cupboard beneath the work surface.

“All right, all right, I get the message.” Laughing, he grabbed one of the tins, fished round in the drawer for their tin-opener, and applied it to the lid.

A fragrance of freshly cooked steak filled the air. If he hadn’t been a vegetarian, he might have been quite tempted. As it was, the scent made his stomach roil. The appreciative yowls intensified.

Merlin ladled the food into her bowl, filling another with water, and she nibbled delicately at her food. When she’d had enough, she licked her lips. Leaping up onto a convenient chair, she pummelled the cushion on it with her forepaws. A moment later she turned twice and lay down upon it, purring thunderously, eyelids reducing to contented slits.

The cushion that adorned the chair was one that he hadn’t seen before. It had the words “Princess Freya” embroidered on it in gold thread. It looked very comfortable, and very expensive.

Merlin brought his tea across to his own, rather less comfortable chair, gazed at the now slumbering cat, and wondered.

“Arthur?” he said, eventually. “When did you buy the cat?”

“Hmm?” Arthur pushed his glasses up onto his forehead. “What do you mean? She’s your cat. You bought her, didn’t you?”

“Ah.” Merlin decided against voicing his deepening suspicions. For a start off, Merlin didn’t know if Arthur’s dim view of magical practitioners extended to cats, or familiars, or whatever other kind of creature Freya might turn out eventually to be. Plus, if Arthur found out about the cat, it would only be a small step from there to finding out about Merlin’s magic.

Ridicule would be the worst of his worries. Maybe he would kick Merlin out of the flat. Maybe he wouldn’t want Merlin in his life at all. A hollow feeling of desperation crept through him, making his belly clench and his throat constrict. He couldn’t face it, being cut out from Arthur’s life. Not yet.

“Of course,” he croaked out. “Only joking! Of course it was me! Silly me, haha.”

“Sometimes, I do wonder what’s going through that tiny brain of yours!” Arthur shook his head, but his lips tilted up in a half smile and his eyes narrowed to dancing almond shapes. In the kitchen light, his eyes were such a bright, happy shade of blue that Merlin’s heart constricted. “It’s a miracle that they let you out of the house, sometimes. Hard to believe they gave you that Ph.D. What was it again? Advanced Psychobabble?” He waved his hand vaguely in the direction of the university.

“It’s Applied Ethical Psychothaumatology, actually, and hahaha, very funny,” said Merlin, with a mock scowl.  

“You and that supervisor of yours.” Arthur shook his head. “Guy or Gordon or whatever his name is. How’s your eyebrow classification system coming along?”

“Ha! You mean Gaius.” Merlin snorted. “I’ve now increased the number of classified eyebrow positions up to ten, ranging from the smug crescent to the upside down boomerang of maximum disapproval. Which I hope never to see again.”

“Only you, Merlin.” Together they burst out laughing.

“If you met him, you’d understand.” Merlin grinned, a warm feeling stealing through his chest and belly. But he should have known that this relaxed atmosphere could never last. Because the universe hated him, for some reason. And Arthur hated everything that Merlin stood for.

“Anyway. It’s an important job you’re doing, both of you, cleaning up all that magical nonsense.” Arthur, screwed up his nose in distaste. “Snake oil salesmen and charlatans preying on the vulnerable. I hope you manage to find a way of getting rid of them all for good.”

“Well, it’s not as black and white as all that,” said Merlin, swallowing to hide the distress that rose unbidden in his throat whenever Arthur got all morose about magic users like this. It reminded him of why he could never truly be himself in front of Arthur, why they could never be together. If his heart sank any further, it would seep out through his socks and into the floor. Making a right mess. “They’re not all like the guy who— you know!”

“I have every right to be angry!” Arthur scowled, brows knotted. “That bastard hounded my father—”

“I know, I know!” said Merlin, hastily. “It’s just – well. There are good and bad people in all walks of life. And, I know you had a bad experience, but maybe there are some genuine people out there in the world of, you know. Magical nonsense, as you call it. Who are trying to help?”

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” muttered Arthur, pushing pieces of paper around the desk.

His lips turned down at the corners. He looked so miserable that it made Merlin’s heart constrict in sudden compassion. And really, he couldn’t blame Arthur for being angry. Not while his father, once one of Albion’s most successful businessmen, languished amid the ruins of his crumbling estate with only his regrets and a bottle of cheap whiskey for company.

Uther was living in a caravan in the overgrown grounds, while the derelict building, Arthur’s childhood home, daily sank further into disrepair. Lonely, in poor health and embittered, Uther lashed out at everyone who approached him, even his own children. Which didn’t stop Arthur and his sister, Morgana from trying. But the outcome was always the same. Uther would turn Arthur away and then Arthur would return home to Brighton, shrouded in pain and glaring at anyone who approached him.

“I’m so sorry about what happened to your father,” said Merlin now, putting a hand on Arthur’s shoulder. “And if we ever find him, I will do everything in my power to ensure that charlatan, Trickler, never hurts anyone again.”

After a moment, Arthur flashed him a wan smile. He put his hand over Merlin’s, his rough palm warm and gentle upon the sensitive skin on the back of Merlin’s hand.

“Thanks,” he said, staring across at Merlin, soft-eyed.

“I mean it,” said Merlin, his voice coming out hoarser than he’d hoped. He licked his lips.

“I know,” said Arthur. His eyes flicked down for a moment, tracing the movement of Merlin’s tongue and then flicked up again. With a small cough, he released his hand. “But you’d better tell all those magical bastards you work with, the good ones and the bad ones, to stay away from me, because I ever catch anyone doing anything like that around me, well, I can’t be held responsible for my actions. That’s all.”

His mouth narrowed to a determined line. He looked like an ancient god, noble and intent of purpose. Merlin’s heart ping-ponged around in his chest.

“Of course, I understand.” Merlin nodded, a little frantically.

Fuck, fuck, fuck! So much for easing Arthur’s opinion on magic users. Drawing in a shaky breath, Merlin pictured high mountains and soaring birds and frantically cast about for a change of subject that might stop his magic from fizzing around his veins like a shaken up can of coke. Not to mention the ecstatic little pings and zings of it that radiated out from his fingertips where they had touched Arthur’s shoulder.

“So,” he added, a few minutes later, when the yammering in his chest had stilled to a more tolerable, steady thud-thud. He nodded at the array of Arthur’s photographs. They were of a mixture of subjects ranging from landscapes to night shots of the sky on the one hand, to portraits of babies and brides on the other. “What’s the project?”

“Trying to get a portfolio together for— for an advert.” Arthur gathered up the photographs into a pile. “Business is slow, so, um— “

“Oh?” Curious, Merlin slid one of the photos out. It was a shot he remembered Arthur taking of Freya the cat, dozing in the sunshine with her paws in the air. He had caught the light on her fur so that she almost glowed. The sense of peace in the photograph made Merlin smile. “I love this one!”

“Well, that’s the kiss of death for that one then.” said Arthur. “There was me thinking it was quite good! But as you have the aesthetic sense of a teaspoon…”

“I do not!” protested Merlin, relief flooding his muscles. This was familiar territory. “A dessert spoon at the very least.”

“I was going to say that you’d better have it.” Arthur’s smile deepened. “I’ll get it framed for you.”

“Seriously?” Merlin looked up. Their eyes locked. A warm feeling glowed in his chest, and he smiled until he thought his face would crack. “Oh, God, thanks Arthur. It’s beautiful.”

“Um.” Arthur licked his lips, then swallowed. He looked down at his fingernails and a delicate shade of pink tinted his cheeks. “I mean. Well.” he mumbled. “It can’t be that good, you know, if _you_ like it.”

“Stop it. It’s lovely, and you know it,” said Merlin. “Take a compliment, for once, Arthur. Anyway, what’s the advert for?”  

“Erm. Well, I’m doing this little thing with Mor— anyway, it doesn’t matter,” said Arthur. “Just a little thing. My sister’s idea.” His phone, which was on the table, started to buzz. He snatched it up hastily, but not before Merlin saw the name “Percival” flash onto the screen. “Ah. Talk of the devil! I’d better get this.”

A hot tangle of jealousy squeezed tight behind Merlin’s ribs as Arthur exited, phone in hand. His magic surged. There was a brief flash of livid green, and then the room went dark. Merlin groaned, burying his head in his hands. He needed to get his emotions under control soon. The amount he was spending on light bulbs was becoming ridiculous.

When he looked up again, Freya was staring at him, her eyes glowing an alien orange, the only bright spots in the sudden gloom.

“This is all your fault, you know,” he said.

Her thunderous purrs were her only response.

 

 

When Merlin wanted to practise Gaius’s meditation sequences at home, he had to sit on top of his bed. There wasn’t room on the floor. It was a little bit too soft, but he thought he was beginning to get the hang of it.

Gaius had suggested that he visualise his magic as a person, or a creature, and give it a name. Closing his eyes, he focused on clearing his mind of all emotion, on finding a well of magic, deep inside his gut. He pictured his mountaintop refuge. Standing upon it, he called out a name. _Kilgharrah! Kilgharrah!_ His vision sparkled like silver, and then resolved into the figure of a huge dragon that bowed before him and submitted to his will.

He focussed on his breathing. In for two, out for four. In, out.  In, out. His pulse drummed in time with the dragon’s wingbeats. His magic quieted and the dragon knelt upon the high ledge where they stood.

“What the blithering hell?” yelled a familiar voice. A door slammed nearby. Swiftly afterwards, a heavy weight crashed against the door of Merlin’s bedroom. “Merlin! What the actual hell?”

Reality slammed into Merlin. His concentration scattered, and the dragonish vision vanished. Although not before he felt, rather than heard, a deep and distant rumble, as if a dragon far away was laughing at him.

Merlin’s eyes flew open. A shower of magical sparks filled the air of his bedroom.

“Bugger.” He sighed and frantically beckoned the little glowing motes of magic back, tucking them under his skin wherever he could.

“Merlin, open up!” The door handle rattled. “What the hell is going on?”

“Just a minute!” Merlin mentally congratulated himself on having the presence of mind to lock himself in while he was doing magical exercises. When his room was back in a rough approximation of how it normally looked, he stood up and pulled back the deadbolt. “Where’s the fire, clotp— whoa! Jeez! You forgot to get dressed!”

Arthur stood upon the threshold, clad only in his underpants, fury making his jaw even squarer and more manly than usual. Damp, dark-blond hair framed his face like a halo. He looked like an avenging angel. A nearly naked one. With firm pectoral muscles and a lean stomach, coated with a smattering of dark-gold hairs.

Merlin’s magic started dancing an excited tango under his skin. Swallowing hard, he closed his eyes and willed it to calm down.

“I’ve just had a shower,” said Arthur between gritted teeth. “And I want to go to bed.”

God! It was more than a budding warlock should have to bear. All his hard work trying to calm his magic was no good to anyone if Arthur kept striding nearly nude around the place, bristling with testosterone and outrage. It was a wonder that they had any electrical circuitry left.

“So” croaked Merlin, eyes tightly shut as he concentrated on damping down the sudden blaze of adoring magic that, if he let it go, could probably take down all the electricity substations across a broad swathe of Sussex and start encroaching into Hampshire. “What exactly is the matter?”

“This!” said Arthur, accusingly. “For heaven’s sake, Merlin, open your eyes. And look at it.”

Gingerly, Merlin peeped out of one eye.

“Well?” Arthur thrust something small and fluffy at him. Upon his outstretched hand stood a very small simulacrum of Arthur’s unicorn slipper. With, Merlin couldn’t help noticing, a rainbow-coloured horn, and a tiny purple bell around its neck.

“Er…! It’s very cute, I suppose?” said Merlin frowning. “Where did you get it?”

“Get it?” bellowed Arthur, turning to gesticulate towards his bedroom. “You know full well where I got it from, Merlin. Seeing as how you must have been the one to put them there. While, I might add, I was in the shower.”

“Them?”

“Oh, for God’s sake.” Arthur turned towards his own bedroom, striding across the landing towards it with short steps. This gave Merlin a brief but appetising view of broad, indignant shoulders and a thickly muscled bum. The way those glutes flexed and stretched against the taut fabric of Arthur’s underpants had Merlin taking deep breaths and counting for ten as he cast desperately about for calming thoughts. “This, you dunderhead!”

He flung open the door to his normally neat bedroom. Merlin gazed, open-mouthed. For Arthur’s bed was covered in more of the tiny unicorns. Hundreds of them. And in among them, Freya lay, fast asleep, sprawled on her back, purring like a tank, paws twitching as she dreamed.

“Wow.” Merlin swallowed. “You really do like unicorns, don’t you?”

“I do,” yelled Arthur, rubbing furiously at his hair so that it rose up in little blond tufts. “But not this much! I have to sleep on there!”

“No, no!” said Merlin, hastily, holding up his hands. “I didn’t mean you! I meant her!” he pointed at the cat. “She loves unicorns. Don’t you see? She loved your slippers, and, well. I mean. She loves you. Obviously.”

Obviously, because everybody did, didn’t they?  

“Go on.” Arthur’s voice lowered to a dangerous growl and his eyes narrowed to slits.

“I’m… um.” Merlin bit his lip and stared at the ceiling. “Well. You see, I got them for her?” he lied. “And, um. Well. She must have brought them all in here. While you were in the shower. Because, you know. She.” He swallowed. “Loves. I mean, you.”

“What, all of them?” Arthur gestured at the fluffy mountain of unicorns, but his voice had softened somewhat.

“Yeah, you know. Maybe they’re kind of like her kittens? She must feel safe in here. You should be flattered!”  

“Flattered?”

Arthur’s aghast expression should have been disturbing. But this was the thing about Arthur. Although he was chronically incapable of expressing emotion through words, his face always betrayed his precise emotional state. Depending on how he was feeling, he could display any one of a fine array of grimaces, glares and, Merlin’s personal favourite, startled rabbit looks. Like the one that he bore now.

Merlin folded his lips together. Because, if there was one thing that Arthur hated it was being laughed at, but Merlin couldn’t help it. Arthur looked so disgruntled! By a bunch of soft, toy unicorns! Try as he might, he couldn’t squash the mirth that bubbled up from somewhere.

“Merlin!” growled Arthur.

“I’m sorry,” wheezed Merlin, shoulders shaking. “Your face, oh God!”

Arthur pursed his lips together. His eyes narrowed and the corners of his mouth twisted down in an appraising look that would have had Merlin on guard if he hadn’t been quite so helpless with laughter. Which was a mistake. Because, being both highly physically adept and mercurial of temperament, Arthur took less than five seconds for his next move. Which was to grab several handful of unicorns and pelt a still-laughing Merlin with them. Followed by a brief interval, during which he manhandled Merlin face down onto the bed and, straddling him, shoved unicorn after unicorn down the back of Merlin’s t-shirt.

“Submit!” bellowed Arthur. “Submit to the unicorns!”

"Never!" It was like being attacked by angry balls of wool. Plus, well. Arthur.

The bulk of Arthur pressed him down onto the bed, thrusting his face into soft, bed sheets. They were recently washed and yet had a lingering aroma of spice and musk, overlain by the clean, resiny tang of Arthur’s shower gel. The heat of Arthur’s skin seeped through his clothes. Strong fingers pinned his wrists to the coolness of the duvet cover. His pulse thudded frantically, flooding his veins with the hot-cold thrill of magic. He closed his eyes, willing his magic to subside.

“Do you submit?” said Arthur, face so close that his breath gusted hot against the back of Merlin’s neck. The tight V of his bare thighs squeezed Merlin’s arse cheeks together.

Merlin couldn’t breathe.

Speechless, he nodded into the bedclothes. With his magic gathered, he could throw Arthur off with a thought. But when he flexed his hips into the bridge of Arthur’s thighs, it felt so good. He wanted the moment to last forever.

But Arthur made a small, unidentifiable sound, halfway between a gasp and a groan, and his weight and warmth were abruptly gone. When Merlin sat up, squashed unicorns cascaded out of his t-shirt and onto the bed. Arthur was already on the other side of his room, with his back to Merlin, bending to pull on a pair of pyjama trousers over his boxers.

Freya, dislodged from the bed, stared up at Merlin, unblinking.

He stared back. _Who are you?_ He thought. _What do you want from us?_

But she didn’t answer.

 

 

The phone on the table pinged again.

Merlin ignored it. Arthur had a right to his privacy. With his wooden spoon, he poked at the tomato pasta sauce that he had made. It bubbled gently as he stirred. Extracting the spoon, he blew on it, and took a tentative lick. Not bad. A bit more salt, maybe.

It was one of those sweaty summer days when the pavements baked and the sea sparkled, a dusty bluish grey beneath a hazy grey-blue sky. And Arthur had gone out for a run, leaving his mobile phone on the table.

Ping.

Well, the guy was nothing if not insistent. So Arthur was seeing someone and hadn't told him about it. But, so what? He was a free man, it wasn't as if he and Merlin were dating or anything. Okay, so they had shared a moment, the other day. And, well, that might have made Merlin’s pulse race. A bit. Well, okay, a lot. But that didn't mean anything, much though Merlin wished that it did. And these thoughts wouldn't get him anywhere. They would only disrupt the marginal control he was beginning to have over his magic. Which would be a shame.

Ping.

He didn't mean to glance at it, really he didn't. But it was the dollophead’s fault for leaving his phone there in plain view. Merlin craned his neck to get a better view of the words that flashed up on the screen.

_Looking forward to meeting up later. I’ll bring the coconut oil this time. Percival_

Well, fuck.

Just then, the key sounded in the door.

Merlin hastily turned back to the stove as Arthur burst through the door, skin flushed pink, clothes drenched with sweat. Cupboards clattered, and the taps gurgled as Arthur raided the dishwasher for glasses, in his quest for hydration. The room seemed to shrink with Arthur in it.

"So. Who's Percival?" Merlin blurted, before he could stop himself.

"What? Hi, Merlin. Dinner smells good?" It was a valiant attempt to dissemble, but Arthur's face was an open book. He couldn't disguise his momentary flash of dismay. Not from Merlin. Not after all these years. “Any chance of a cuppa?”

"You're being evasive, he must be cute," said Merlin, heart sinking down towards his socks and threatening to pool in a soggy, sad mess on the floor. He tried to twist his mouth up into a smile, but it wobbled back down to a flat line.  "Who is this bloke? He's been texting you pretty much constantly all morning."

"No one important," said Arthur, airily, grabbing his phone and squirreling it away into his shorts pocket. "I'm off to shower. And then I'm off out."

"But…"

But, nothing. Arthur was gone.

“Dollophead!” Merlin yelled through the door.

There was a brief flash of magic, a mere playful brush of it that raised the hairs on his forearms. Over in the opposite corner of the kitchen from where he was sitting, the switch on the kettle flicked down. A slow hiss indicated that the water in it was heating up.  

He groaned. Great. So, Merlin's magic was doing things for Arthur, now, without Merlin even telling it to. And meanwhile, Arthur was seeing someone. Tonight! And not just anyone, either. A muscle mountain who could probably eat Merlin for dinner and still have room for pudding. And they were already discussing who should bring the oil.

On the plus side, Arthur being out of the house would give him some time to practice taming his dragon, as Gaius called it. But on the negative side, well. Merlin's poor, broken heart might not ever recover.

 

 

It had taken everything that he had, but at last he had done it. Elation made his heart swell. There before him on his inner mountaintop, the dragon lay upon the ground, its huge gnarled head bowed in submission. Sulphurous breaths wafted from its nostrils as they flared.

_—What is your bidding, young warlock?_

It spoke inside his head. Of course. Because, that's where it lived. Inside his head. Merlin laughed out loud.

 _Tell me, Kilgharrah,_ said Merlin without speaking out loud. _Who is the cat who has adopted us? Is she magic?_

_—Ah, the Lady. Thin is the line between a blessing and a curse._

Merlin frowned. He may be biddable, but the dragon seemed to specialise in incomprehensible statements.

_—What else would you know? And what would you have me do?_

_What can you do?_ said Merlin.

_—I can find the corners of a sphere. I can show you what's there. I can show you who, and what they do. And bring them to you, here. But, beware! You only see part, and not the whole._

Well, what on earth was that supposed to mean? His mind raced, thinking back to that time when he'd tried scrying. The water had shown him Arthur engulfed by a wave, as he ran along the undercliff. But not that he was safe. Perhaps the dragon was warning him that whatever he saw or did, could be prone to misinterpretation. Gaius had told him something similar.

 _I know that,_ he said, cautiously. _I will take care not to jump to conclusions._

The dragon nodded its head.

_—The skill lies not in using magic, but in knowing when not to use it. There must be a balance, and a price paid. So, young Warlock. You command me. What is your bidding?_

What was it that Gaius had said? Don't try anything too big, not to start with. Start off with something small. Some local problem you would like to solve. Merlin turned things over in his head, but kept circling back to one thing. What was really on his mind at that moment?

 _Can you show me Arthur?_ he said at last.

_—Ah. The young Pendragon. Your bond grows, I sense it._

The deep rumble could have been a growl, but then again it could have been a chuckle. Gaius had warned him that even when it might seem to be under his control, his magic might be fickle and unpredictable. He hadn't lied.

_—Well?_

The dragon was getting impatient.

 _Show me,_ commanded Merlin.

But when Kilgharrah showed him, he wished that he hadn’t.

 

 

“It’s him, I’m sure of it.” Arthur unfolded a piece of paper onto the kitchen table, and pointed an accusing finger at it.

Arthur’s expression, of distaste mingled with bitterness, made Merlin’s heart sink. There was only one category of “him” that could make Arthur look like that. Only one type of person that Arthur hated unequivocally.

Magic users.

People like Merlin.

He swallowed down the rising tide of misery in his throat as he read the blurb. It was a scrunched-up poster, no doubt a victim of one of Arthur’s periodic purges of all the noticeboards along the seafront.

_Trickler’s Miracles_

_Have you ever wished that you could connect with the departed? If so, then this show is for you. Prepare to be dazzled by this incredible clairvoyant. For one week only!_

“That’s the bastard who conned my father,” said Arthur, his jaw set, eyes deep and commanding. “I am going to take him down.”

When Arthur’s face settled into a determined mask like that, powerful and charismatic, eyes a startling, emphatic blue, he resembled some kind of an avenging angel. His voice, clipped and sure, did something weird to Merlin’s bones that made him grateful he was sitting down. Otherwise he’d slide to the floor and start begging.

Which wasn’t far off what Percival had been doing, when he’d scried them. Only, well, Percival had been practically naked, and so had Arthur. And their skin had glistened with some sort of oil. And they’d been— well. Embracing was a weak word for what they’d been doing.

“Okay,” croaked Merlin. “Look, you don’t have to tell me, and I know it’s difficult, but. What exactly did he do?”

Arthur swallowed and looked at the ceiling. When he looked back, his irises were a dangerous ring of blue around an angry pool of black.

“That bastard,” he said in a low voice heavy with suppressed rage. “That bastard claimed that he could talk to her. To my mother. His voice – I don’t know how he did it, but it took my father in, all right. It was as if she was speaking to him direct. And the things she— he— the things that he said. It all started out so plausible. Little intimate details of her relationship with Father that no one else could possibly know. How did he do that? Surveillance?”

Merlin shook his head, although he thought he might know. Magic, he thought in a dim recess of his mind. Scrying, maybe, into the past. Or some sort of telepathy, pulling memories of the departed loved one from the mind of the subject. Or worse, necromancy. It was a dark and forbidden manifestation of the art. At any rate, these sorts of things were precisely what he and Gaius were desperately trying to detect and stamp out.

“I am so very sorry, Arthur.” He reached out and placed his hand upon Arthur’s. “In all walks of life, there are those who use their talents for ill purposes. It sounds like this… this Trickler person. He… he is such a one. Not all of them are.”

“How can you be so sure?” Arthur’s eyes were dark, hooded.

“I have met…  I know— people.” Merlin swallowed. “Good people. People who are… not like that.” he nodded at the scrap of paper on the table between them, casting around for a safer thing to say. “But… you… he… I mean, what happened after that?”

“He went further.” Arthur tangled Merlin’s fingers among his. “He tried to imply that my mother wanted my father to talk more, but that her vessel – that would be this wanker, Trickler – was ill and needed help. Father would have done anything – anything! To talk to her further. Before we knew it, Trickler had access to all Father’s accounts, and he just ransacked them. He was such a clever bastard. He took it all.”

“That’s really shit, Arthur,” said Merlin, shaking his head. “It’s using confirmation bias, and it’s shitty and manipulative. I’ve studied a lot of psychology. Priests, politicians and other shysters deliberately tell people what they want to hear. And then lead them on. Until they’ll do anything. Bastards have been using it as a tactic to get power over other people since time immemorial. I’m so sorry it happened to your father.”

It was true. And if their magical talent outweighed their scruples, well, that made them doubly dangerous. It wouldn’t take much magic to nudge someone who is already inclined to believe them over the edge into gullibility.

“I’ve never told anyone this but… but that’s not the end of it.” Frowning, Arthur removed his hands from Merlin’s and stood up, facing away from him for a moment, looking out of the kitchen window at the steel-grey sky. High above, a seagull cried out a lonely lament. “I, um. Because, well. Well, when Father ran out of money, he started— he took, I mean he stole, funds from the company’s pension fund. It was fraud, and he knew it. And he should not have done that, it was wrong, of course it was. Even now, I feel heartbroken when I think about the people who trusted him, trusted my family… but I firmly believe that he would not have done that if it wasn’t for that bastard, Trickler.”

Merlin knew some of this, of course. Because the resulting furore had played out in the national press. He remembered feeling sorry for all the pensioners who had lost their livelihoods.

Arthur turned back. He sat down, taking a sip of water from his glass, and met Merlin’s eyes in silent challenge, unblinking. Waiting for Merlin’s reply. The seagull, and the room, fell silent with one of those deafening silences that demands to be filled, but cannot, because the things that needed to be said were too large and too powerful to be uttered out loud.

“I’m sure you’re right,” said Merlin at last, biting his lip as he groped for the right words. “In a way, all the people he stole from, indirectly, they are Trickler’s victims as well. But, Uther still should not have—”

“I know that, of course I do.” Arthur’s voice shook with anger, but it was shame and guilt that Merlin saw, hovering around Arthur’s eyes. And of course Arthur would take this upon himself, even though the guilt was not his to bear. “But Father needed help, Merlin. He was ill! He is even worse now. But he will not accept help, not from me, not from Morgana, not— “ Arthur’s eyes glittered and his voice wavered. “The company folded, the police got involved. And then that bastard – that utter bastard – he vanished—”

“I’m so sorry, Arthur.”  It was a depressing story, and all too believable. 

“Father was so humiliated when the shareholders let Pendragon Enterprises be sold off for a pound to Deorham Enterprises.” Arthur let out a bitter, shaky laugh. “A pound! After all those years that he’d spent building up the business… and he was bankrupt. It broke him. He still hasn’t ever recovered. It must have felt like his whole life’s purpose had turned to ashes.”

God. It must have taken such courage for Arthur to open up like that. A huge sense of privilege and responsibility welled up in Merlin’s chest, and for a moment he could not speak.

“It’s not your fault, Arthur,” said Merlin in the end, voice crackling, conflicting emotions making his mouth wobble and his fingers tingle with suppressed magic. He swallowed. “It’s not your fault. Never forget that. And thank you. For trusting me, I mean.”

Of course, there were many good magical practitioners who used their talents to help those who were grieving and lonely. But then there were the others. Parasites. Con artists and grifters who took advantage of human struggles to feather their own nests. Such people swarmed like flies around vulnerable people. To such a one, Uther, rich and grieving, must have presented an irresistible opportunity. But magic should be tempered with wisdom. With power came responsibility. It had to be so, or the balance would be thrown. A deep and powerful sense of injustice gripped Merlin.

“I swear!” said Merlin, grasping Arthur’s fingers with his other palm. “I absolutely swear that…  I will do anything. Anything. Whatever it takes, to take that bastard Trickler down.”

“Thanks.” Arthur smiled, one side of his mouth twitching up, making wry almond shapes out of his eyes. “I appreciate the sentiment. And your friendship. More than anything. But there’s probably not much you can do.”

They gazed at one another for a long moment. Merlin’s heart drummed, silent fists railing against the barrier of his chest. He licked his lips, and drew in a shaky breath.  

“You’d be surprised,” he said. It was now or never. He had to tell Arthur about his magic. He was glad he was sitting down, because at this moment if he had been standing his legs would have given way beneath him.  “But before we decide on a plan, there’s something you need to know. About me.”

“Go on.” Arthur’s eyes were hooded. Veiled. Like a hawk’s.

Merlin opened his mouth. But Arthur’s eyes widened and his jaw dropped. He looked over Merlin’s shoulder to something beyond.

“Who the hell…?” Abruptly, Arthur stood up and stepped forward towards the door, wide-shouldered and threatening. Merlin stood and turned. Arthur fisted Merlin’s t-shirt, shoving Merlin behind him so that he stumbled back against the table. “How did you get in here?”

“Ow!” cried Merlin.

A woman stood in the doorway, her hair tumbling in wet curls around her face. She was breathing heavily, dots of high colour flushing her cheeks as if she’d just finished a workout.

Or performed powerful magic.

Her hand was outstretched. Bruises mottled her face and blood oozed from a gash on one shoulder. Her clothes hung around her in purple ribbons, as if shredded by giant claws. Her feet were clad in a muddy pair of slippers that looked suspiciously familiar. Around her neck was a collar. A tiny purple heart dangled forlornly from it.  

In the depths of his mind, Merlin started to summon his dragon.

“Stay there, Merlin!” growled Arthur, holding Merlin back with one arm. “I’ll deal with the intruder. Who the hell are you? And how did you get in?”

“Let him go, Arthur,” said the woman. She seemed young, but her eyes were old and weary, and they sparkled as if with an inner fire, like the eyes of a cat, reflected in a car’s headlights. “Merlin, you can stop summoning your power. I will not fight you. I am not your enemy. And besides, he— I am compromised. I am weakened. I need your help.”

Merlin looked again at her collar. And the slippers on her feet. Oh.

“Power? What power?” Arthur stepped forward as if to grab her, but she flung out a hand. He stopped abruptly, as if hitting a barrier. “What the hell?”

“It’s all right, Arthur,” said Merlin, putting a cautious hand on Arthur’s shoulder. “Don’t you see? The collar? The unicorn slippers? It’s Freya. And she’s hurt”

“Freya? As in the cat?” Arthur frowned. “Don’t be an idiot, Merlin!” His voice was dismissive, but when he turned back to the girl his shoulders relaxed minutely. “Cats don’t just turn into people.”

“I had hoped that Merlin would have done a better job of purr… persuading you that not all magic practitioners are evil, before something like this happened to me and I had to show you my other form,” she said, with a sigh. She frowned at Merlin. “But he has resisted all my attempts, and squandered all the opportunities I gave him.”

Arthur’s head and Freya’s head swivelled round simultaneously. Two pairs of accusing eyes glared at Merlin.

“What, me?” he said, indignantly. Surreptitiously, he wiped suddenly clammy hands on his jeans. “That’s a bit rich! Anyway, I was just about to—”

“Merlin,” growled Arthur. “What exactly have you been hiding?”

Well, it was all going to go to hell, anyway, so Merlin might as well go for it. Closing his eyes for a moment, he reopened them and released his magic with the spoken words.

_Upastige draca!_

Cold, bright sparks outlined a tiny fiery dragon, perched upon Merlin’s outstretched hand. It reared upon its hind legs and flexed its wings.

Arthur gasped. His mouth turned down and his throat worked furiously. He pointed a shaky finger at Merlin.

“You—” he said. “And… and… she…”

Merlin smiled wanly. This was not how he had imagined revealing his magic at all. It was a relief, to stop hiding, of course it was. But one look at Arthur’s horrified expression made his chest ache. He’d blown it. For good, this time. His throat tightened and his vision blurred.

“Surprise, surprise,” he said sadly.

 

 

“Do you think he’ll ever come back?” Merlin stared forlornly at his cooling coffee.

It had been two days. Two long, miserable days of constantly imagining Arthur snuggling up to Percival. Picturing the two of them embracing, naked, as they had been that time when he spied on Arthur by scrying. Unbidden, his mind joined the dots to the rest.

He blinked back the misery that filled his eyes and rubbed his still aching jaw. He was almost a hundred percent sure that Arthur had pulled that punch, but it bloody hurt anyway.

Arthur. His heart clenched. God, he was an idiot. Arthur had poured out his heart, like that, and then Merlin trampled on his feelings by revealing himself as a member of the group of people that Arthur most despised. Little wonder that he’d lashed out with his fists, and then walked out and not returned.

 _Come on Merlin!_  With a huge effort, he wrestled to pull his thoughts together. _You need to help Freya to rehabilitate. Focus on that. That, and finding find out about how that bastard Trickler turned Arthur against people with magical talents, of course._

“It depends.” Freya shrugged, then winced as the action pulled at something in her injured shoulder. “Ow!”

It came out as a high-pitched noise, similar to a cat’s yowl. There was a sudden lull in the hum of conversation that permeated the university’s Arts Piazza Cafe. Several students on neighbouring tables glanced at them before resuming their chatter.

“Hush!” Concerned, Merlin held a finger to his lips. Freya’s cat-like mannerisms were diminishing, but could still draw unwanted attention, even in a cafe at a university that was renowned for its liberal-minded attitudes. Although it was unlikely that Trickler or his friends would be here, you never knew. “And careful with that shoulder,” he added, in a low voice to avoid being overheard. “I know it’s healing quickly, but Gaius doesn’t want the stitches to come out just yet!”  

“It’s okay,” she said, flexing it slowly. “Much better, today. I heal quickly.”

“How did Trickler manage to injure you so badly?” said Merlin. He dipped his biscuit into the froth atop his cappuccino and scooped the mingled chocolatey goop into his mouth. Freya’s glass of milk stood in front of her, untouched.  

In the end, it had been Gaius who had stitched her up, grumbling all the while.

“The National Health Service,” Gaius had said as he eyed the broken edges of her wound, “is still available at the point of need. The nearest establishment with a minor injuries clinic will administer much more efficient suturing.”

But Freya, apart from having a questionably human anatomy, did not officially exist, and had no identity papers. In the end, they decided it was not worth the hassle.

“I underestimated him,” she said now, her eyes glowing and narrowing to slits as she remembered. “When I recognised him, I think I’d been a cat for too long. He was just walking around The Lanes, bold as you please. His aura was purple. Cocky. My good sense went out of the window. I jumped up onto a wall to get a better look. And he was so strong! I had no choice. When he lifted the curse and changed me back— I nearly fell!”

Her voice caught. Fear glazed her eyes. But then she turned back to Merlin, blinking in that way that cats do when they’re waking up.

“But you’re changing the subject. You asked me,” she said. Blink, blink. “About Arthur. Was that a rhetorical question? Or do you actually want to know my opinion.”

“I’m interested to hear what you think.” Merlin settled back in his chair and took a sip of his drink. It was hot and creamy, just the right side of bitter.

“Hmm.” She pursed her lips. “Well. Just how stubborn is he?”

“What, Arthur?” He cast his mind over the past few years of sharing a house with Arthur, of epic, protracted battles over toilet paper, limescale, dishwasher salt, and shaving foam, and he snorted. “How stubborn is a mountain?”

“Ah,” said Freya with a sympathetic smile. “Tectonically stubborn. That is bad. There is only one way I know of moving mountains. And an earthquake is probably a bad idea, so we should probably think of something else.”

An earthquake? She probably could, as well. In the two days that she’d been in human form, he’d come to find out a lot about her. And it was nice to share the house with a demi-goddess, really it was. The kitchen had never been so clean, and it was sweet the way she would curl herself up into a tight ball to nap on the sofa.

But she wasn’t Arthur. A lot tidier, in many ways. And she didn’t steal all Merlin’s food and his laptop. Plus, Merlin’s magic was much easier to control, now that his raw feelings and hormones weren’t flip-flopping all over the place whenever the door opened.

But the fact remained that there was a huge Arthur-shaped hole in his life. Like in a cartoon. Merlin loved all those old cartoons, the Loony Tunes ones, with Daffy Duck and Bugs Bunny. They all had those scenes when a character ran through a wall, leaving a stylised negative version of themselves imprinted on the scenery. Arthur had done that to Merlin’s heart, when he left.

The hollow feeling in his belly grew larger and larger every day. Soon there’d be nothing left. Just a big hole, where Merlin had once been. Perhaps Daffy Duck would put a sign up there, a warning for others. _Here lived Merlin. He lied about himself to the person he loved best, and then disappeared into the hole that was left behind._

“Merlin?”

“What? Sorry. I was miles away.” He sighed. “You’re right. Actual earthquakes. Hmm. Probably best avoided,” He swallowed down the lump of misery that rose in his throat. He missed Arthur. So very much. His voice caught as he spoke. “No, I guess I just have to hope that our research gets us something that we can use to catch Trickler out.”

Away across the room there was a sudden burst of laughter and scraping of chairs as students scrabbled in their bags and clattered out of the room. He looked at his watch. Ten o’clock. Probably they were off to a lecture. He and Freya should go back to the library soon. His coffee cup was empty but for the dregs, and there was a lead he wanted to follow up, about Trickler’s business dealings in Manchester.

“Come on. Let’s get going!” He tapped his watch.

“Wait! I haven’t had my drink!” Freya leaned forward and lapped at her glass of milk. “You know, this would be much easier with a saucer.” She frowned at it.

“You can pick it up, you know!” Merlin nodded at the glass.

“Oops, I keep forgetting about opposable thumbs.” Tentatively, she took the glass and lifted it to her lips. It wobbled a little and left a white moustache above her lip.

“You’ve got a—” He gestured with a finger along the top of his own lip. “Here, and here.”

Her eyes widened comically. Lifting her eyebrows, she let her tongue out and started licking at the strip of white beneath her nose.

“Not like that!” Hastily, he picked up her napkin and handed it to her. She stared at it for a moment until he mimed the action of dabbing away the stains and she copied his movements.

“There you go!” Merlin couldn’t help smiling.

“Sorry!” She smiled back. “It’s a bit weird, after all this time.”

“Good weird? Or bad weird?”

“Kind of a bit of both,” she said. “I mean, it was a curse, obviously. But life was simpler, as a cat. And there were a lot of naps. The worst thing about being transformed against my will was just that... It was against my will. He… he took my choice away from me.” She shuddered. “It was awful.” Her eyes, a fragile shade of green with hints of orange, brimmed over with sorrow. She tucked her hand behind her ear and nuzzled into it, like a cat washing herself.

Merlin tried to imagine not having control over his own free will. He shivered.

“I will help you to stop him,” she said firmly. “I can’t let anything like that happen to anyone else. You do understand, don’t you?”

“Of course,” said Merlin.

But he couldn’t help worrying. She was slight, thin and rangy like a coiled spring imbued with hidden power. He knew there was power there, he had seen it, had felt it. Even so, he wondered. After all, Trickler, had defeated her before. Was she strong enough to defeat him this time?

On the other hand, if they didn’t stop Trickler, who would? Trickler had to be stopped. They would just have to outsmart him, that was all. Sure, all they had on their side was an injured demi-goddess, a broken-hearted, half-trained warlock, and a professor who should have retired twenty years ago. It wasn’t enough. But it would have to do.

At that moment, as if summoned by Merlin's thoughts, Gaius shuffled in through the door and over to their table.

“Ah, there you are, my boy!” He leaned forward. “You’d better come with me,” he added in a low whisper. “I have found something.”

 

 

“So his real name is Kevin.” Merlin snorted as he scanned the printout from the microfiche, taken from the original register of Trickler’s business records. “Kevin Jones. It’s not exactly mystic, is it? No wonder he has a stage name.”

“Shh!” hissed a scruffy-haired student at the other end of the table they were occupying in the reading room. When Merlin looked, up, the student pointed to a sign which declared _SILENCE_ in red capital letters.

“Sorry!” he mouthed back.

“Yes, Merlin.” Gaius tilted an eyebrow into the “emphatic sideways hockey-stick” position as he carried on in a low whisper. “I am aware that there is a certain mystique associated with a more esoteric _nom de guerre_. However, the suitability of his moniker is not the most critical finding engendered by my research.”

Freya looked at Merlin. A puzzled line appeared between her brows.

“He means that there’s something else important about Trickler’s original name,” translated Merlin in a very quiet voice, glancing up at the student with an apologetic shrug.

“Yes, that’s what I said!” Gaius peered at them both over the top of his spectacles. He pushed another printout across the table to them. A crafty smile crept across his face. “You see, it is as we suspected, Merlin. If we examine this Trickler’s tax returns, although at first glance he might appear to be self employed, it becomes apparent that for several years now he has been employed on the payroll of a company named Deorham Enterprises.”

“And?” It was Merlin’s turn to be puzzled. “Why does that matter?”

“It matters, my boy. It matters. Because.” His eyebrow assumed the smug downward crescent position, which meant that Gaius was feeling pleased with himself. “Because, I looked up the CEO of Deorham Enterprises on the interweb.”

“Internet,” corrected Merlin. For a professor so adept at navigating the darker echelons of the web for his research, Gaius was remarkably inept when it came to actually remembering the names of things.

“Yes, yes. That’s what I said. And this CEO is one Alined Deorham.” Gaius paused, triumphantly wielding a sheaf of papers as if he had solved the mystery of the Marie Celeste.

“Um.” Merlin pursed his lips, still not sure where Gaius was going with this.

“Oh Come, come, Merlin! Alined Deorham? Are you sure it doesn’t ring any bells?”

Funnily enough, Merlin had a vague recollection. He pursed his lips and stared at the ceiling for inspiration.

“Oh for heaven’s sake.” Gaius shuffled the papers animatedly. “Deorham Enterprises famously bought out Uther Pendragon’s businesses for a pound. And this Trickler chap was on the payroll. Now do you see?”

That’s when the penny finally dropped.

“Oh, my God!” exclaimed Merlin loudly. “Uther was stitched up!”

“Shhhhhh!” said the long-haired guy, staring at them and pointing furiously at the sign.

“God,” Merlin added at a whisper.

“—ess,” finished Freya.  “And thank you.”

He stared at her.

“Indeed he was,” said Gaius. “Merlin, Arthur needs to know about this. Do you have any idea of his whereabouts?”

Although Merlin shook his head, in reality he was pretty sure that Arthur would have been holed up in his studio for the last few days. With, his imagination supplied, the delectable Percival and a large pot of coconut oil. The misery hit him like with all the subtlety of a heavy goods vehicle full of manure, but he turned his head shake into a nod, and sighed. Gaius was right. Arthur needed – deserved – to know about this. But Arthur wasn’t speaking to him, not since—?

“He won’t listen to me,” Merlin blurted. Sadness clutched at his throat, but he swallowed it down.

“In that case,” said Gaius, with a conspiratorial grin that revealed surprisingly even teeth, “we will have to do something ourselves.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” The student with the scruffy hair snapped a heavy volume closed and stood, scraping his chair loudly on the dark wood of the floor. “It’s a library, not a bloody pub!”

 

 

"Stop fidgeting! Remember we're not here to do anything," hissed Gaius, stilling Merlin's jiggling knee with one admonishing hand. "Only to observe."  
  
That was all very well for Gaius to say. Merlin would have felt a lot better about everything if Freya could have been there as well. But it was too dangerous. Trickler knew who she was. She had insisted on waiting nearby, in a pub that was popular with theatregoers. He couldn’t help worrying about her. What if Trickler was to go into the pub for a drink before the show?

“And for heaven’s sake, keep up that shield like I taught you,” Gaius added, eyebrow settling into the stern line of admonishment. “You’re leaking magic like a corroded gutter in a rainstorm.”

As Merlin hastily attempted to re-erect his mental defences, he spared a glance at his surroundings. Avalon Theatre epitomised faded grandeur. A few years back, an enterprising local businessman had attempted to restore it, with some success. The stalls had been converted to tables with comfortable, plush swivel chairs, attended by waitresses who served cheese platters during the performance. From the stalls, the seating rose steeply in galleries towards the entrances on either side. Around the walls, the lighting was set into deep crevices, decorated with a tasteful, art deco, gilt-inlaid leaf motif.

High above the stalls, a grand chandelier sparkled in the dim lights. The red velvet seats, now shabby and threadbare, no doubt once lent an air of opulence to the auditorium. The carpet was sticky from years of abuse by discarded ice cream tubs. But a buzz of anticipation filled the air, a raw excitement that made Merlin's skin prickle and his blood surge.

He pulled his hat down over his ears, pulse racing. He didn't think that Trickler would recognise them, or detect Merlin’s magic, but it didn't hurt to be cautious. Other audience members were filing in. From time to time, he had to stand to let someone squeeze past on the quest for a seat. Each time, he ducked his head, convinced that they were trying to identify him as a magic user. It didn't help with his anxiety. His fingernails were bitten to shreds.

Over time the normal low murmur of the audience swelled to an excited chatter that ended abruptly with a dramatic offstage drumroll.  
  
"Ladies and gentlemen!" boomed a disembodied voice through huge speakers. "Are you hoping to speak to your loved ones from beyond the grave today? Prepare to be amazed! Put your hands together for the incredible… the extraordinary… the fabulous… Trickler!"  
  
Trickler came on stage, bowing to a ripple of respectful applause. This audience wasn't there to provide rapturous praise for a performance. No, this audience was here for answers. Answers from the other side of the veil.  
  
Trickler's attitude reflected that of his audience. Respectful, a little shy, earnest. If it hadn't been for the roiling sparks of magic that seethed in Merlin's gut, he might have been taken in. As it was, he had to close his eyes and desperately try to settle it. It bounced around under his skin like an eager puppy. Something in the atmosphere agitated it, whether it was Trickler's own magic or Merlin's anxiety he couldn't be sure.  
  
Trickler started his act with simple acts of clairvoyance that put the audience at ease and settled them into a kind of mesmerised trust. When he concentrated, eyes closed, Merlin could feel waves of soothing charisma wash over him, like a thick purple blanket. Trickler was clearly an accomplished practitioner.

What if he could detect Merlin’s magic? Every time Trickler’s gaze flashed past him, he sank a little lower into his chair. He jammed his hat down as far as it would go and pulled his hoody up over his chin and nose so that only his eyes were showing. He should not have come. This was all a big mistake.

“Stop fidgeting,” whispered Gaius out of the corner of his mouth. “You will draw attention to yourself.”

“Shh!” hissed several people in the seats around them. Trickler was staring in their direction.

“Is there someone over there who has lost a loved one?” He pointed. “There! In the audience! The spirits are speaking to me. I’m getting a name. It begins with an A. Amanda, perhaps? No - wait! Alice! Who is missing Alice?”

He was staring directly at Merlin. Merlin’s heart thumped as if it was trying to escape. Trickler’s eyes glittered and flashed. They seemed to fill Merlin’s entire field of view. A compulsion gripped him. A sudden urge to stand and confess everything. He sat up, leaning forward, shifting his weight forward in readiness. A small, inner part of him screamed at him to sit down. But it was no use. The urge was too strong. Trickler was too strong!

A hand on his arm broke the spell, and he sat back with a gasp. His vision blurred and went golden. He blinked away the light. The theatre spotlight was directed onto his seat. But panic only really hit him when he realised that Gaius was standing up.

“Alice?” Gaius was saying, tremulous and tentative in a way that Merlin had never heard from him before. “Alice, is that you?”

“Gaius! I never thought you would come, but I should have known!” The voice that came from Trickler’s mouth was completely different – warm, affectionate, and above all female. “You never could resist a bit of drama, could you?”

“Alice! It is you!” Gaius’s face was transformed, as if lit up from within. He looked ten years younger. But his grip on Merlin’s shoulder was strong and reassuring. “Well, well, well! This is most unexpected. Is this your first tenure as a supernatural manifestation within the vessel of a medium?”

“There you go again, you pompous old buffoon,” she said fondly. “You and your big words. You always did go on.”

“And you always managed to deflate my ego, my dear!” Gaius laughed, a delighted sound. “I miss you, you know.”

A ripple of applause erupted around the auditorium.

Merlin risked probing with a tiny tendril of magic, which met a purplish black, glittery blaze and was deflected with a malevolence that made him gasp out loud.

A cynic would be admiring the extraordinary way that Trickler was managing to project such a range of emotions in such a convincing manufactured voice. But Merlin was no cynic. This was real. Somehow, he didn’t know how, this man had managed the impossible. He had reached behind the veil – or more likely, into Gaius’s mind – and pulled out a real personality. It was certainly an impressive talent. No wonder his audiences were so enraptured.

“I miss you too.” Her voice was beginning to fade. “Stay strong, old man.”

There was a little break in her voice. Then it came back again, stronger than before, and with a timbre to it that to Merlin’s magical ear sounded off.

“This vessel through which I am speaking weakens,” she said. Definitely different. The syntax was subtly different, and there was a deeper undertone that he wouldn’t have noticed if he hadn’t been looking for it. And it was cold. The tenderness, the emotion, was gone. “There are too many other voices… you must seek him out when no others are there. He will call you to him! Cross his palm with gold, and then we can talk. Until then, farewell…”   

“I will, dear Alice,” said Gaius. His voice cracked and his eyes were moist. “Farewell.”

Merlin gaped at him. Surely he hadn’t been taken in. They locked eyes and a minute shake of Gaius’s head reassured Merlin that he had not.

But Trickler was already scanning the audience for more potential clients, and the spotlight left them.

Merlin had to press his lips together against the anger that bubbled up in him as Trickler repeated this act again and again. Trickler gave vulnerable, grieving people a glimpse of the loved ones they were missing – whether he had retrieved them from their own minds, or was genuinely communicating with them from beyond the veil, Merlin could not fathom. But then he ripped them away again, and issued a thinly disguised plea for more money.

It was a scam. A vile, exploitative scam that used magic, and threatened the reputation and integrity of ethical magical practitioners everywhere.

There was a distant rumble as if of thunder and the lights flickered. Trickler’s voice faltered and he looked wildly around.

“Merlin!” hissed Gaius in a warning voice, his hand clamped on Merlin’s arm.

Sighing, Merlin closed his eyes and visualised his dragon as it paced restlessly around its cave.

“Stop that!” he admonished in the silence of his own mind.

“I am merely ensuring readiness when you need me,” growled the dragon, cryptically. Honestly, it was growing more like Gaius every day, and, God, Merlin didn’t like to examine that aspect of his psyche too closely.

From time to time, Trickler’s glittering eyes rested on Merlin, as if he could see something here that he did not like. Merlin shivered. He should not be there. It was dangerous. He was sure of it. Trickler was strong, his attack on Freya proved that. And if Trickler saw Merlin as a threat, he would not hesitate to protect himself.

“I’m hearing a new person, now,” Trickler was saying. “An older woman. So beautiful, so sad. I think maybe I have seen her before. Her name begins with an I. Isabel, is it? Wait, no, it’s a Y! An Yvette, perhaps, or an Yvonne? No! She has an unusual name… Ygraine, maybe? Is anyone here mourning Ygraine?”

“Yes, I am!” stated a familiar voice from lower down in the theatre stalls. The silhouette of broad shoulders was topped with a thatch of fine blond hair that shone in the glare of the spotlight. “As my father did, before you conned him. As you are conning everyone else in this audience. You are a scam artist and a fraudster.”

Merlin’s mouth dropped open. Arthur was there! For all his scrying, he had not foreseen this!

Arthur’s bravery made his heart swell, but every cell in Merlin’s body screamed caution. Trickler was dangerous. What could Arthur be doing? Apart from standing there, in opposition to Trickler, the embodiment of strength and courage. Did Arthur have a plan? Didn’t the clotpole realise how powerful Trickler was? He couldn’t fight Trickler on his own!

Indignation warred with worry for a moment, and worry won. Decision made, his heart hammering and his magic dancing in ecstatic circles beneath his shield, Merlin muttered a spell that amplified his own voice.

“It’s true!” said Merlin, his voice augmented by his magic. He gazed round at the audience. Adrenaline and the happy shock of seeing Arthur made his heart pound and his magic surge, golden and ecstatic. “Arthur is telling the truth! Trickler is a con artist. Don’t fall for his tricks!”

“Merlin!” Arthur’s mouth gaped open in shock. “What are you—”

“I could say the same to you!” said Merlin, grinning. “But whatever it is, I’m on your side, whether you want me or not.”

Arthur flashed Merlin a lop-sided grin and nodded, a slow deliberate movement of acknowledgment and thanks that made hope thrill through Merlin like a drug as he grinned back.

A heavy murmur swelled round the audience.

“Oi!” yelled someone by the side of the stage. “Sit down!”

“This man, this Trickler, tricked my father and stole from him, and I won’t have him trick anyone else.” Arthur raised his voice to carry on, sweeping his hand around the room. “You’re all being conned! All of you! Don’t give him any money. This guy is a fake and a conman. He will take everything from you, and in the end you won’t even have your self-respect left. Believe me, I know. It happened to my father.”

“You’re drunk.” Trickler laughed, but it sounded forced. He was rattled. He motioned to the ushers who stood at all the exits. “Get these men out. They’re disturbing the spirits.”

“There are no spirits, you charlatan!” yelled Arthur, even as a pair of burly-looking bouncers approached his row. The veins stood out on his neck and his hair stood up in angry clumps. He had never looked more beautiful. “I won’t leave until everyone knows how you stole from my father! You are a liar and a thief! And what’s more, I will be back. Every time I hear that you are performing, I will be back. I will do the same. I won’t rest until I have ruined you, as you ruined him. You fake.”

The murmur had grown to a buzz.

“Its true and we can prove it!” yelled Merlin, ignoring the hands that tried to pull him down. “Don’t believe Trickler! He’s working for Alined Deorham. They swindled Uther Pendragon out of his fortune, drained all his accounts, and then bought his company for a pound. Don’t fall for his lies! He’s a fake!”

“What? How dare you!” Trickler’s face morphed into an ugly scowl. “A fake, am I?” He raised his hand. Power and malevolence radiated from him in dark, purple waves. He gazed up at the blazing chandelier, directly above Arthur’s head, and opened his mouth to incant.

Merlin’s heart jumped when he realised what he intended.

“Arthur! Look out!” Merlin yelled, scrambling between seats and over them, ignoring the people who protested and tried to stop him. “The chandelier! Look out!” If he could only get to Arthur. And not only Arthur, what about all the other innocent people who would be harmed when the chandelier came down? He had to raise a shield! Trickler had to be stopped!

“Set me free!” roared Kilgharrah from the cave of Merlin’s mind.

“I can’t!” he hissed behind his teeth. “What will you do?”

“You’ll just have to trust me.” Anger rumbled through Kilgharrah’s – Merlin’s – belly like thunder until the room shook.

How could he trust Kilgharrah? The dragon represented Merlin’s magic, it was some part of him, an angry and uncontrolled part. He was scared of what it might do.

But above the stalls the chandelier trembled. Somewhere in the audience, someone screamed. In the space between one heartbeat and the next, the chandelier started to drop. Trickler laughed.

Arthur looked up, but too slowly.

It would fall directly on him. He couldn’t get away in time.

Merlin unleashed the dragon.

Fire erupted from his fingers in agonising pulses. The lights winked out. Bedlam broke out. Screaming, shouting and cursing mingled with the drum of footsteps. The crash-crash of theatre seats springing back into place as people got up and fled. But Merlin ignored all that. His focus remained on the chandelier. It shivered and trembled, but he held it. But for how much longer?

Its weight pressed on him. High above, a purple-black spike of magic drilled against the shield. Trickler! Trickler was pushing back. He was still on the stage, Merlin could see him out of the corner of his eye. Trickler stood with his feet wide and his hands raised, fingers splayed. Merlin mirrored his stance, breathing deep through his nose. Agony and ecstasy thrilled through his fingers. Threads of magic spidered up from them to the ceiling in thick, golden ropes.

Trickler’s answering magic was laced with heavy, steel-grey spikes. Like barbed wire. It sliced through the golden threads as if they were mere kite strings. Each one pierced Merlin’s nerves, sending jolts of agony to his brain. They dragged at his magic. Towing it down, down, down. Draping it with pain and horror that was a physical weight on his mind.

His muscles and gut were at breaking point. Fire danced along his skin. It was unbearable. He couldn’t sustain this. He couldn’t! It would fall! But he had to. Arthur’s life depended on it!

“Let go, warlock.” The voice sounded in his head, deep and threat-laden. “You are too weak. I will destroy you.”

The chandelier shivered, letting out an agitated jingling sound. Trickler's magical barbs severed a section of the magical mesh that Merlin had created. He gasped with pain, hastily sending a glowing web spinning up towards the gap, but something fell through. It fell to the ground and shattered. Shards of glass splintered into the flesh of his outstretched hands.

“Never!” he yelled in reply, redoubling his efforts.

He closed his eyes and focused on the chandelier. Without the distraction of his vision, he could repair the magical net that held it more easily. His heart leapt in his chest, but his breath came more easily. He must hold. He could hold. He would hold! He focused on breathing, in, out. On holding. Sustaining.

His legs gave way, and he sank to his knees. The muscles in his back and legs screamed. Black sparks speckled his inner vision. But his magic held strong against the pressure.

There was a sudden wrench, and the weight of Trickler’s magic lifted. Merlin staggered back in relief as the black edges to his vision brightened. Something had changed. There was a scuffling noise in the direction of the stage. Breathlessly he directed a strand of magic towards it. It mingled with a warm aura, silver and blue-green, that beckoned him in and shored him up.

“Freya?” he whispered. “Freya, is that you?”

“Hush.” Her voice sounded in his head, now, firm and strong. “We have him now.”

Something tugged at him but he shook them off. He had to hold! The chandelier had to stay up. Arthur had to stay safe.

“Come with me, idiot!” said a calm voice. A beloved voice. Firm hands under Merlin’s armpits were tugging him to his feet. An arm snaked around his rib cage, holding him up.

“No!” he said, trying to explain through the fog of pain that stabbed through his head. “I have to hold it. Arthur...”

“Oh for heaven’s sake.” Strong fingers stroked the hair off Merlin’s face. “Idiot. I’m fine. Everyone’s fine. They’ve all gone now. Let’s get you out of here. And then you can let go. Come on!”

“Arthur?” The hope almost hurt even more than the earlier effort. “Is that you?”

“Yes, it’s me!”

“I… you,” whispered Merlin through dry lips.

He couldn’t stop. He couldn’t let go. His magic still blazed away. A firestorm of pain, taking his life force with it. His energy sapped with every breath. It was like falling asleep with pins jabbing into his skin.  

“Merlin!” A concerned face swam into view, all rugged jawline and worried blue eyes. “Come on, you idiotic, self-sacrificing bumpkin! For heaven’s— Look. You’re draining all your energy, and you don’t need to any more. So, stop being an idiot, and let go of your bloody magic!”

“There’s no need to be a prat about it!” said Merlin faintly.

He let go with relief. It had to be okay. Arthur said so. The pain winked out. Blackness took him.

 

 

He was floating out to sea. He should be somewhere else, but he couldn’t remember where. It was peaceful out here upon the glittering water. Apart from a distant, irregular beeping sound. A lorry reversing over speed bumps, or something. He giggled under his breath at the thought, and vaguely wished it would stop. But he wasn’t really that bothered.

Far above his head, the sun gleamed on the scales of a golden dragon that whooped and tumbled and loop-the-looped through the air as if giddy with the sudden joy of flight.

The waves lapped against his body, and he yawned. He probably should be worried about being tugged away from the shore, but it was so peaceful out here.

“Wake up, idiot!” said a demanding voice.

The beeps settled into a regular beat. Evidently the lorry had decided on a direction at last.

A wave crashed over him. The current pushing him relentlessly back towards the shore. Pain flushed through his body, and he yelped. He didn’t want to wake up. Waking up made everything hurt. But he supposed he should. Arthur said so.

“Come on, Merlin. I need you. Come back to me. Stay with me, you idiot.” Another wave, bigger than the first, lifted him and hurled him onto the pebbly strand. A dull ache settled on his head, and a sharp pain pricked into his arm.

His eyes winked open, and he tried to protest, but he couldn’t move his mouth. The dragon faded away, and the sea resolved into a curtain decorated with abstract naval themed patterns. He blinked at a starfish. It blinked back.

“There we go, Mr Wyllt.” A face loomed over him. Someone lifted his wrist. Fingers probed his pulse point. Calm, tired eyes peered at him from beneath a mop of golden curls. He took in the stethoscope and white coat. A doctor, then. “Heart nicely back into rhythm. Well done. Take a few more puffs of oxygen, there’s a good chap.”

“Nggggh,” mumbled Merlin around whatever was blocking his mouth.

“Sorry, old chap!” she said. “I’m Elena. One of the doctors here. I’ve been looking after you. Looks like you’re out of the woods. Jolly good! Just a few more seconds and then I’ll take the face mask off and you can tell us all about the sweet dreams you’ve had. You gave us quite a fright.”

“Ngh-Ngh,” he said.

“No need to apologise. Sounds like you are quite the hero of the moment!”

His wrist was dropped back by his side. Elena retreated through a curtain, which swished closed in her wake. The starfish winked at him again. He wasn’t sure why. He winked back, just in case it was important.

Immediately, something warm picked up his hand and stroked it. It felt so soothing that he let his eyes flutter closed again.

“No you don’t!” growled a familiar voice into his ear. “I forbid you to go to sleep again, Merlin.”

With great effort, Merlin parted his eyelids to glance at the speaker. Arthur’s eyes, red-rimmed with worry, were even bluer than usual. Merlin wanted to reach out and tuck a stray strand of lank blond hair from Arthur’s forehead. But his arm felt like lead, and all he could do was make his hand twitch.

“Arr-rrgh!” he said. He tried to smile through his oxygen mask.

“Yes, it’s me. Seems like you need me around to keep you out of trouble,” whispered Arthur. “And don’t ever do that again. Do you hear me?”

Merlin frowned. He couldn’t remember doing anything particularly bad. He’d protected Arthur. He remembered that. And Arthur was all that mattered, right?

“Whargnhoo?” said Merlin.

“What did you do?” Arthur laughed mirthlessly and wiped his hand with the back of his eyes. “God, Merlin. I don’t know exactly. But it looks like holding up a ceiling with the power of your mind alone is a bad idea, who would have thought it? Merlin? Merlin?”

Arthur’s voice cracked. He sounded funny. Merlin tried to laugh, but his ribs hurt.

“Merlin, no! Don’t go to sleep. You mustn’t! I won’t have it! Nurse? Doctor?”

The glittering sea beckoned. Merlin tried to tell Arthur it was all right, but the tide was pulling him away again.

“It’s all right, Arthur.” Through a fog of painkillers, he could just about hear the reassuring tones of the doctor, Elena was it? “It’s a normal sleep. He’s been through a lot, but his heart is back in rhythm. He’s strong, and young. I think he’s going to be all right, now.”

Something suspiciously like a sob was the last thing that Merlin heard before his eyes closed again.  

 

 

 

 

It was only when, a few days later, Merlin was permitted to return home, that anyone would tell him what had happened.

There weren’t enough chairs in the kitchen for all four of them, so Arthur perched on a pile of crates. Freya sat opposite Merlin, while Gaius nursed his coffee at the table opposite the noticeboard. A newspaper clipping was pinned prominently to the cork board, describing the moment when “Local Photographer Unmasks Magical Fraudster!”  

“So. I still don’t get it,” said Merlin, scowling at the prat. “How did you manage to pin Trickler down for long enough to get him put away, and still run back inside the building to rescue me? Which, I must point out, was epically stupid.”

“Not nearly as stupid,” growled Arthur from between his teeth, “as forgetting to save enough of your life force to keep your own heart beating. You were holding up that bloody chandelier for over an hour, Merlin. Over an hour!”

Arthur’s hand perched on Merlin’s shoulder, warm and solid.

“Arthur is right,” said Gaius. His eyebrow cocked up into the upside-down boomerang, its position of maximum disapproval. So fierce was its angle, Merlin couldn’t even bear to look at it. “You still lack the most basic instinct for self-preservation, my boy. How you can have squandered my tutelage so comprehensively I really cannot fathom—”

“You’re a dim-witted, soft hearted, bonehead,” said Arthur at the same time, with a fine disregard for the human anatomy. “God only knows – begging your pardon, Freya – Goddess only knows how you have managed to survive for so long without burning out the tiny piece of brain that remains inside that thick skull—”  

Merlin tuned them out, massaging the frown lines on his forehead. His head was hurting. Didn’t they realise he didn’t have a choice? Arthur had been in danger! There was no way that Merlin could control his magic under those circumstances!  

“Don’t be so hard on him,” interrupted Freya. They both stopped instantly despite the softness of her voice. “Merlin’s magic is instinctual. Who can blame him, when it acts to protect the ones that he loves?”

“Oh, Goddess.” Merlin groaned and buried his head in his hands. Freya exposing his crush for all to see was the last thing that he needed! “Can’t you just focus on telling me what happened rather than baring my psyche? Please?”

That was the trouble with sharing a house with a demi-goddess. Hiding his feelings for Arthur had become more and more difficult with time, anyway. But as far as Freya was concerned, he might as well be made of glass for all she could see inside.

“You’re going to have to tell him eventually, you know.” She pouted, licked her hand and drew it behind her ear.

“Tell who, what?” said Arthur, looking from one to the other.

“Nothing!” said Merlin hastily.

“Suit yourself,” said Freya, sulkily. She slurped milk from her mug. “I was only trying to help.”  

“Just…” Merlin gazed at the ceiling for inspiration. “Just tell me what happened, ok? How did Arthur manage to subdue Trickler?”

“While you were busy performing your magical Samson act,” said Gaius, whose eyebrows had settled back into the less intimidating seagull wing of mild irritation. “Which we will discuss in more detail in our next academic advisor’s meeting. Now where was I? Oh yes. Young Freya, here, came barreling in like some sort of avenging angel, and took advantage of Trickler’s distraction with the chandelier to immobilize him.”

“But we left Freya in the pub!” said Merlin, puzzled. “How did she--”

“I’m a demi-goddess, aren’t I?” she said. “Like I was going to stay in the pub while you did a reconnaissance mission. Huh. Reconnaissance, my arse. Prophecy might not be my strong point, but when something big’s going to happen, I can see the writing on the wall as well as any other semi-divine entity.”

Semi-divine entity? She’d been spending too much time with Gaius, thought Merlin, morosely.

“So, anyway, I felt the magical discharges, really Merlin, you’re going to have to do something about those, because you leak like… like… what was it you said Gaius? A corroded thing...“

“Coroded gutter in a rainstorm,” said Gaius, nodding.

“That’s it! Anyway, Merlin was doing a great job of distracting that bastard, Trickler,” said Freya. Her face took on a smug air, a very feline impression that only amplified when she licked at the rim of milk from around her lips. “When I immobilised him, he didn’t have the advantage of surprise this time.”

“Which is when Arthur, here, tackled him to the ground,” said Gaius, peering at Merlin from over his spectacles. “With what I must say was a very impressive wrestling hold, while his friend, what was his name again, Peter was it?”

“Percival,” muttered Arthur, not meeting Merlin’s eyes.

“Ah, yes. Percival.” Gaius nodded and leaned back against his chair, steepling his fingers. “That’s right. A very athletic young gentleman, am I correct?”

“Yeah.” Arthur coughed. “Works out a lot.”

“And also a policeman.” Gaius's eyebrows adopted the thin line of careful neutrality. “Which is handy. Fraud squad, as it happens.”

“Percival?” Merlin plastered his very brightest smile across his face to cover the thunderous sound of his heart breaking. “Arthur’s boyfriend? He sounds great, when can I meet him?”

But whenever Merlin thought about the huge and heroic Percival arresting Arthur’s vanquished foe, well. It was hard to maintain a semblance of lightheartedness. He couldn’t help letting his smile slip, just a little.

“I should have been there,” he added, looking down to disguise the way that his vision blurred.

“You were!” said Arthur. His hand snaked out and gripped Merlin’s wrist, warm and strong. “You were protecting us all.”

“My dear boy,” said Gaius softly. “You must give yourself some credit, here. It is only because Trickler was sufficiently distracted by his attempts to circumvent your rather impressive thaumaturgical barrier that Freya was able to penetrate his own otherwise considerable defences.”

Merlin swallowed, and nodded his head, but still couldn’t escape the feeling that Percival had somehow managed to worm his way even further into Arthur’s good books by closing the arrest.

“Besides which.” Arthur’s voice lowered to a distinct growl. “He’s not my boyfr—.”

“I saw you with him,” blurted Merlin. “I know. It’s all right. You don’t have to hide it from me. I hope you’ll be very happy together.”

“For heaven’s sake.” Arthur repeated. “He’s not my— wait. You spied on me? With magic?”

Arthur’s face contorted with a sudden fury that made Merlin’s mouth slacken and his heart thud.

“I didn’t mean to!” protested Merlin. “I— it— it was an accident!”

“How do you accidentally spy on someone?” With the sudden power of a panther, Arthur grabbed Merlin by the collar and dragged him to his feet.

“Hey! You great big bully, I just got out of hospital, you can’t just—”

“You are coming with me.” Arthur dragged the still protesting Merlin out of the kitchen and along the wooden-floored hallway into the lounge. Depositing Merlin on the sofa, he closed the door with a well-aimed kick and picked up a black, anonymous-looking holdall, thrusting it onto Merlin’s lap. “Look.”

“Whoa!” yelled Merlin. “What have you got in there? Rocks?”

“Open it!” Arthur yelled back. “And then apologise for violating my privacy, you prying warlock!”

There wasn’t a lot that Merlin could say to defend himself. Swallowing, he opened the zip on the bag. Inside lay a stack of new paperback books, which explained why the bag was so heavy. He looked back up at the pacing Arthur.

“Look at them, then!” Arthur hissed out between his teeth. “Or has your snooping ended now that you have permission?”

“I’m so sorry, Arthur,” said Merlin, biting his lip to quell the rising tide of misery that swelled in his throat and made his eyes sting.  God. He’d fucked this up so royally. He blinked back his tears and stared at a copy of the book. Rubbing his eyes, he stared at it again, and then looked up at Arthur, wild-eyed.

“But that’s—” he choked out. “It’s—”

“Morgana’s new book,” said Arthur, a note of condescension creeping into his voice, as if he was patiently explaining things to a toddler.  

“And you… and he…” Merlin glanced back at the cover again. The book was entitled “Bound to the Barbarian”, and very arresting cover it was. A tasteful photograph of two near-naked centurions, embracing, skins glistening with oil. In a position that Merlin recognised from his scrying.

One of them he identified as Percival. The other one he knew rather better.

“Percival and I, yes.” Arthur sat next to Merlin on the sofa and took the book from him, leaning to replace it in the bag. “We’ve been helping Morgana out with the photography for the covers of her books. She’s got this new series of Roman gay romances coming out, you see. This is the first one. The next one is called “Shackled to the Centurion”. And that advertising project that Morgana and I were working on… well, we’re setting up a male modelling agency. And Percival is a policemen, but also, well, trying to make it as a—”

“Male model.” Merlin nodded, and a pale ray of hope started to penetrate the dark fog that clouded his heart. “And you…?”

“Don't fancy him. Fancy someone else,” said Arthur, firmly. “Someone, in case it’s not blindingly obvious, who is chronically incapable of, you know, actually existing in the modern world without melting things and making them explode.”

It took Merlin a moment or two to work out what Arthur was getting at, but when he did, his face split into a broad smile.

“I got. You know.” He shrugged. “Upset?” he raised a sheepish eyebrow and cocked his head on one side.

“God help me,” said Arthur. His face drew a little closer. “Tell me, Merlin, If that’s what happens when you’re upset, what happens when you’re happy? Or, heaven forfend..." he lowered his voice to whisper. "In the throes of sexual ecstasy."

“Holy crap. Um.” Merlin gulped and his heart raced. He tilted his head a little more. “I really don’t know! But, you know, I wouldn’t mind. Finding out, I mean.”

“With me?” Arthur angled his jaw.

"Well.” Merlin felt Arthur’s breath hot against his lips. He licked them, to moisten them. Arthur’s eyes followed the movement. “You always did say I had terrible taste.”

“Turns out I was wrong!” When Arthur smiled lopsidedly back at him, with that vulnerable tilt to his eyes, Merlin’s heart swelled within his ribcage. Arthur shone so bright, sometimes. Merlin was blinded.

“Prat!” he said, before his heart grew so large that it exploded and all his feelings came bursting out.

“Idiot!” said Arthur, but his eyes said something else entirely.

Leaning forward, he cupped the back of Merlin’s head and pressed their lips together until Merlin’s eyes fluttered closed and his vision shimmered with golden motes of ecstatic magic.

A few minutes later, a brief click heralded the door opening. Merlin and Arthur sprang apart as if stung.

“Er, sorry to interrupt?” said Freya, looking from one to the other of them with what Merlin felt was an inappropriate amount of curiosity and glee. “But the dishwasher just exploded?”

  

 

 

 

*********************************************

END

*********************************************

**EPILOGUE**

 

“Merlin? Are you sure about this?” Freya’s eyes were earnest and dark.

A large wave crunched into the seawall beneath their feet, sending spray high into the air that sparkled pink and white in the glowing sunrays before it landed back into the surging surf. Over them all loomed the pale chalk cliffs, tinted orange in the warm light of the setting sun.

“Absolutely sure!” said Merlin, ignoring his misgivings and grasping Arthur’s hand, firmly. “Gaius said my magic would automatically ping back if I needed it. And with both Alined and Trickler behind bars, I don’t, not right now. And one day, I’ll be able to control it better. But in the meantime, this will work really well. It’ll be kind of like having a reservoir for when you need water. And at the same time, if it gives you some freedom—”

“Plus, we don’t want any more power cuts,” said Arthur, firmly. “The National Grid were baffled for weeks by the last one.”

Merlin’s cheeks heated when he remembered what had caused the surge that had shut down the entire south of England for two hours.

“For what it’s worth,” said Freya with a grin, “you have my blessing!”

“Thanks, I think.” Arthur bit his lip, and his face reddened most enchantingly. “Can we get on with it?”

“Okay.” Merlin wrestled his gaze away from his blushing boyfriend and started to incant. “ _Upastige draca!”_

This time, although the spark dragon started off as tiny, when Merlin muttered a few more words it grew until it was barely able to stand on the narrow undercliff path.

Freya gazed at it admiringly, and leaped onto its back in one swift, skilful move, as if she had been riding incorporeal dragons for centuries. Which, come to think of it, maybe she had.

“Take care of him,” said Merlin, softly. It felt odd, to be drained of his magic, but not unpleasant.

“I will,” said Freya, bending to tickle Kilgharrah behind the ears. “He’s just a big softy, aren’t you?”

“And take care of her,” Merlin added more sternly, glaring at the dragon.

“That I will, young warlock.” Kilgharrah bowed to him. “We will be back. And I will be here if ever you need me. You need only call! Until then, farewell.”

With a flap of his ethereal wings, he was gone, Freya crouched low upon his back, her face pink with exhilaration.

“Well.” He turned to Arthur, who was staring after them, open mouthed. “It looks like it worked!”

“In that case,” said Arthur. He gripped Merlin’s arms and moved closer until their foreheads touched. “Shall we risk a kiss?”

“Mmm.” Merlin brushed his lips against Arthur’s experimentally. There was the faintest tingle of magic, but nothing he couldn’t control. “Yes! It worked!”

With a contented sigh, he let his face fall onto Arthur’s shoulder, where he could feel the ebb and flow of Arthur’s breathing beneath his cheeks.

“Thank heavens for that.” Laughing, Arthur hugged him tight for a moment, and then whirled him around until he was breathless and giggling like a schoolgirl. “Is it all gone?”

“Not all of it!” said Merlin, a little giddy, he wasn’t sure whether it was from the kiss or being twirled like a fairground horse. “I’ve learned a lot, the last couple of months, you know. And I kept a bit, you know. Just enough to— well. But not enough to—”

“Short circuit the entire country’s electricity supply every time I give you a blow job?” Arthur grinned even as they spun. “I’m not sure I believe you.”

“Clotpole.” Merlin laughed, and held Arthur a little tighter. “Well, maybe a little experiment is in order?”

“You’ll have to catch me first!” With a swift movement, Arthur tugged Merlin’s hat down over his eyes and ran off, splashing audibly through the puddles under the cliff.

“Dollophead!” Dizzy and stumbling, Merlin took off after him, joy singing in his heart.

Two months later, they woke up to find not one but two cats asleep on their kitchen floor amid a pile of soft unicorn toys.

 

 


End file.
